Saturday. Played along on the guitar as I was flipping back and forth between last night's choices on television, gave up not long after nine and went to bed after taking one of the pain pills. The few stomach aches and pains proceeded to quickly go away, either because of the pill or by getting settled in and so slept until just before the alarm was due to sound, awake and reasonably human.

Off to breakfast, nothing exciting to relate beyond a plain waffle with sliced strawberries and bananas. Home editing yesterday's entry was a little depressing as the head was reasonably clear this morning and the gibberish I was attempting to salvage was more opaque and mindless than a clear mind wanted to contemplate. I guess you ultimately just say to hell with it. At least that's a positive, not that the mind has gone, but that you can at least (occasionally) recognize the fact.

Saturday. I suspect we'll walk over to the farmers market soon saying we'll take pictures. Maybe ice cream, maybe coffee. Maybe, maybe: maybe this is the way life stumbles on in its later stages.

Are we depressed?

Actually we're fine if only because the mind is indeed clearer.

You may find that's not the case when your read this again in the morning.

I said clear, not necessarily rational.

Later. A walk over through the farmers market to the ATM on Lakeshore, back home to take a nap. To lie down, anyway, sleep not necessarily the goal. Just to, you know, cool the jets. Yes, pictures at the construction site to document progress.

Later still. I can't say I've seen any real change in my eating habits, any reactions to any foods I've eaten since the operation, and I've eaten most everything I can think of on their potential problem list. Which is good. I'd say. No diarrhea or other problems you don't want to hear about, let alone think about. So double good. I'd say.

A walk down to the 7-11 look-alike for a small packet of honey cashews, why I'm not sure. A walk then directly over to the lake to walk back along the shore snapping all of three photographs. This one I've taken many times, nothing special about it, this one because raised the camera and pushed the button, this one when they began streaming down toward me on the path.

On to the farmers market to suddenly sit on one of the benches when I saw it become available to then turn around and walk back, stopping at a coffee shop to pick up a cup of coffee on the way home.

I can't say I'm bored. I'm not sure I've ever really been bored: too many hobbies, too many interests, even when they seem to have devolved down to about one or two in this last long decade. I haven't been able to generate any interest in many of the things I've done and places I've routinely gone in the past. Walk here, walk there. No. Take a bus here, take a bus there. Nope. Drive here, drive..., well, you get the idea.

I suspect this “lack of interest” will eventually drive me to do something if not new, then something I haven't done recently and the some of the old energy will return. I just hope it doesn't take years instead of months.

It's already been years.

One or two. We'll see. I've been living in this place now for over a decade. How often have I played any of the old music I have sitting up there on the shelves? See if I can't rekindle something there again? Something like that. Probably not the best example. When's the last time I've taken a photograph using studio lights? Doesn't take all that much physical energy and one way, maybe the only way to generate interest in doing it is by doing it. Experience opens the doors if there are doors locked inside to be opened. He said confidently, as if he knew. Doodle-dee-do.

Maybe not go over this stuff until something actually comes up.

Maybe, maybe. Still. A lazy afternoon with the usual odd thoughts passing through.

Evening. Nothing on television until nine when Maria Wern, a Swedish detective series came on and I watched it all the way through. I'm not sure the plot line of any of these programs needs to make sense, the further out there the better, this one this evening not really making any sense, but it held my interest until I was ready for bed. Female Scandinavian detectives out the ears these days. No complaints. The writers for men detectives don't seem to have resolved their characters any better.

What does that mean?

It means I'm tired, I want to go to bed and so I'm saying the hell with it and packing it in.