The attitude is much better, a marked difference, some thought of redoing artandlife coming out of the increased energy, trim some of the crap out of it and go back through the old parade pictures to find more that I missed. My eye has changed, it's a major task and I've been looking for something interesting to fill the days ahead.

So you're saying you're feeling good, hup! and all that.

Indeed. The gloom is no longer gloom, if gloom is the right word. Up and down. I lose track. We're up so it's now time to say I'll go out and take pictures, cross a bridge, drink some, well, orange juice. Lemonade. (But not late in the afternoon or evening lest it should interrupt our sleep.) The usual crap.

Later. A walk out along the lake, heading over to the farmers market thinking I'd have one of the small waffle squares from the waffle truck that's alway's parked next to the roasted chicken truck along the curb every week, with powdered sugar this time instead of whipped cream, a little hungry after the earlier light breakfast (of a waffle with butter and syrup instead of my usual plain waffle with fruit). Hup! Feeling good. Bought the waffle, ate the waffle and immediately felt like crap, an odd off taste in the mouth, the head askew and feeling I needed to go back to the apartment. No longer so hup.

OK, a walk back to lie down feeling better after an hour, up to have a yogurt to see if it would clear the palate, still the tail end of that off taste in the mouth that appeared right after eating the powder sugared waffle. Makes me wonder if these episodes are warning me way from foods that do me no good or if it has nothing to do with food, but throws a pair of dice whenever I eat something to see how it's going to react. Is every day to be this way?

Later still. More time lying down, some time, when the head finally cleared, spent on that photography article, getting closer thinking one more pass might make it comprehensible. Good, he said, just as the funky head came back.

OK, funky head, let's take it easy, see how long you last. A walk to the burger drive-in up the street in the late afternoon to bring a steak sandwich home for dinner, still feeling punk but feeling better once I'd gotten home and eaten the damned thing. Up and down. On and off. Day in, day out.

It doesn't seem to change.

I could just start writing about something else.

Evening. It's been a really nice day, clear sky, sun, the temperature reaching into the high sixties, twenty degrees Celsius, one of the few Centigrade numbers I don't have to mentally translate to Fahrenheit. They say the same tomorrow, every bit as good.

You seem to be better.

The head is now clear and life for the moment is excellent. Like throwing a light switch, the difference of night to day.

A Comissario Brunetti at six, the set in Venice, done in German police procedural with the same set of characters you find in all of them: the competent and straight (as in actually follows the law) inspector who reports to the incompetent, politically manipulative, chief who still manages to get the bad guy no matter what. It's one of the better ones, although I've seen this one before and don't need to see again.

Otherwise it's Saturday night episodes of House that run from six through ten, so I think I'll tag along with House until I can no longer tag along with House and head for bed.

Meanwhile I've been redoing some of the old 2006 Gay Pride parade photographs. Many weren't handled well in Photoshop, the color balance, the brightness and such. So this could be a project. I could even go so far as calibrate the computer display. Obviously the head is clear and the energy is back. Just like that. Off and on like a light.