Saturday. Lights out not long after eight to awaken just after six, the longest night of sleep I've had that I can remember. So good. I hope. Up to head out the door under an overcast sky to arrive this time well before the waitresses arrived, but the dining area door open again and so turned on the lights and settled in with the papers.

The single pork chop, eggs over medium, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, the weight still three pounds under the one-fifty target this morning, finishing up the papers by a quarter to nine and heading out under what was now clearer skies, the attitude good, the sinus-upper palate behaving better than it usually does (maybe because I'd taken a double dose of the pain meds this morning).

So the day has started better than they have in these last couple of weeks with the lungs and such?

A question I ask and ask. Seems better, the lungs aren't as clogged and the so called “tiredness” seems to have eased, but we're still not there. If I remember where “there” might be anymore.

A weekend ahead. Let's see what we get done, a good indication of how far we've come.

Later. Not particularly tired, which is good, and so a walk over to the lake thinking to pick up a grilled chicken sandwich to bring home for lunch, crossed the street to the lake and stood thinking, was I really hungry? Did a grilled chicken sandwich really appeal? Existential questions. All these existential questions. Decided to return to the apartment and watched golf through most of the afternoon. Feel better than I have these last two weeks, no complaints there, but stayed inside for the day. Hey. These things happen.

More and more often.

Evening. Watched the first hour of the Italian Anti-Mafia Squad – Season Two, Episode 8 without too much damage, but bailed before it was finished and headed for bed not long after eight. Last night going to bed at eight had resulted in going right to sleep and getting a good long rest. I'm suspicious tonight might not so easily repeat.