Later. A nap did help. A lie down for maybe an hour and a half with the radio playing in the background nap. We are feeling better, ready to face the rest of the day, the sky clear, the sun out, clearly we've entered t-shirt weather. This is good: t-shirt weather.

Looked like t-shirt weather, but without a wind. Downstairs and then out the door to return for a long sleeved shirt and then down the stairs and out the door again thinking: lunch. Hungry, you see, although I'm not sure why, as I'd had a reasonably large breakfast.

Over along the lake and then on through the farmers market to the usual place, a table available out on the patio, a grilled cheese sandwich, ice cream and lemonade. The air cleared the head a bit, good to get outside, but the usual sinuses acting up and feeling at the edge of crappy. Still, a nice day, a walk back to the apartment doglegging again along the lake.

I did stop by Walden Pond to see if they had any of the Maigret books in their used fiction stacks, but found none. Perhaps why I'd never read any of them when I was reading books like a vacuum cleaner in decades now gone. There just aren't all that many around and the comment (a blurb on the back of one I'd ordered through Amazon) suggesting Jules Maigret is in the same league as a Holmes or a Poirot is only true in Europe, France or the publisher's imagination.

So, some guitar and then another nap? To finish out the afternoon? Maybe take an extra hit of the pain meds, see if that doesn't help? We made three days of clear headed we're going to change the world (a little) idiocy last week, we'll not carp over this little glitch. Too much. Right here, a little bit, but that's it.

Evening. Another nap. Well, an ocular nap that ended what developed into a long afternoon. Chalk another one up on the not so great side of the ledger. Nothing too over the top, but up there where your world is under attack and it's best to hunker down in bed and ride it to wherever it's going.

All was pretty much back together again by six in time to watch a Swedish thing, a newspaper reporter this time, a second program in a series that started last week. I noticed there was a Swedish detective fiction section in a set of book cases in Walden Pond books. I guess there's a lot more of it out there than I understood, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, yes, but fleshed out into an entire genre with other writers' books, television series and movies. Another lesson in my own disengagement from the current scene.

Going through the Netflix offerings I stumbled across the French Spiral series of programs, the first three years, eight chapters each available, evidently a fourth year (from viewers' comments) yet to be posted. I mentioned watching it not long ago on one of the public stations (another of the six o'clock offerings) that was (what turns out to have been) the first year's chapters two times through, both times leaving me feeling there hadn't been a resolution, that there must be a last chapter that was missing. Turns out there isn't. Wasn't.

Watched almost half of the second season this evening, getting to bed after ten without thought or recrimination.