Wednesday. To bed early, to sleep early enough, but to awaken after three and then not be able to get to sleep again for an hour, finally deciding to get up to futz briefly with the journal entry on the computer before going back to sleep again and awakening what seemed a second later five minutes before the alarm. Feel just fine, a nice walk under an overcast sky to breakfast and back, they're saying overcast with some very slight chance of a misty sort of rain. OK.

Blood pressure ninety-five over sixty-seven. Seems low (yes, I took the med last night) but I feel as if I have plenty of energy, so we'll not think about it or bring it up again unless it goes back out of line. Whatever “goes back out of line” may look like.

The laundry is in the wash. Needed to do that. Still have enough clean underwear and the like to last another week, but only for another week, and there's no reason to cut it close. And yes, it was a trivial task to start the damned thing and it will be a trivial task to guide it through to its finish. Just one of those odd things in life, laundry. So many words over such little actual fuss.

Later. The laundry done by noon (plus about fifteen minutes), a bus to the ATM on Broadway to then just turn around and walk back home, picking up a two liter bottle of diet Coke and an ice cream bar from the 7-11 look-alike on the way, eating the bar on the way to the apartment house construction site and taking the necessary set of pictures. Latham Square will wait until tomorrow when I have another prescription refill to pick up and I'm in the mood.

Blood pressure's fine in the one-ten over seventy area, the day is still overcast and grey, but reasonably warm and we have a three or four day supply of diet Coke in the refrigerator, how good can it go?

Still have the socks to sort and fold, but otherwise the day's chores are done, we'll see if we can find something we can stomach on the tablet or - who knows? - surf the web. As we did yesterday/week/month/year. No complaints, we seem to find the routine sensible.

Bite your tongue.

Too old to bite my tongue for something like babbling as I'd bleed to death in a matter of minutes and mess up the rug.

Later still. A good afternoon, some cleaning of this and that in the bathroom (we still need to scrub that tub), folding the socks and watching a Korean detective thing on the tablet. I'm becoming more familiar with Korean film than I ever imagined. I'm learning from the readers' comments that the subtitles are often hopelessly inaccurate. Well, OK. Makes sense in the sense the dialogue often doesn't seem to make sense. Now I know. Maybe not all of them are as weird and off the wall as I think they are.

Evening. Nothing on television again, other than a Death In Paradise starting at eight that I've seen before and so I'll probably head on to bed and the tablet. At least I'm tired and getting to sleep without delay seems feasible.