Sunday. Lights out by nine-thirty last night. I'm pretty sure. Awakening a couple of times for short periods, but awakening for good finally at ten minutes to six, getting up and getting ready to drive to breakfast. It's a Sunday. On Sundays we drive, arriving at close to ten minutes before seven, the dining area dark, but the door open and so turned on the lights and settled in with the papers.

The Eggs Benedict, country potatoes, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, the weight on the scale down a couple of pounds under the one-fifty target. Such is life. Finished up the papers at a quarter to nine, thinking I really didn't want to go by the supermarket, but got into the car to find the traffic clear and so turned around supermarket bound. Why such difficulty in convincing myself to make such an easy and useful trip?

The vision a bit blurred while shopping, picked up a number of bags of frozen mixed vegetables, but no sake or other alcohol (how long has it been now since I've had a drink?). Back to the car and home to take the selfie and head upstairs to mangle yesterday's entry before posting, as is the habit.

Nothing on the schedule today, other than a couple of things that need doing online.

Later. Watched golf through three in the afternoon to settle in with the Public Television's Newshour before watching a movie on the tablet. Not a thought to go outside.

Evening. Watched an episode of the subtitled Swedish series Beck at six, followed by an episode of the Danish Those Who Kill at eight, Beck holding me throughout, but bailing, as I've done in recent weeks, on Those Who Kill after maybe thirty minutes. Not sure why. And that's been our Sunday, here in Oakland.