Wednesday. Early enough to bed, but an uneven night's sleep, awakening at six (again) instead of with the alarm at forty past. Which is to be expected, uneven night's rest or not. I did talk with the people at the morning restaurant and evidently they're still coming in just after six, which means I could still drive and not have to feed the meters once they've finished resurfacing the street. The walking has been easy and probably good for me, but we'll see. I don't want to walk in the dark, but the mornings will become lighter as the weeks pass by.

Otherwise off and back from breakfast, still too much dust in the air on the walk to the café, the watering trucks active this morning as I was walking back. You can feel it in the chest. Can't be any good for you at any age, but particularly when you're young or older (or so it feels).

Back to lie down for a bit, listen to the radio, the sinuses acting up a notch. One of the orange blobs with a sparkling edge that appears when you close your left eye became apparent for a few minutes, but went away and there were no sign of ocular shenanigans afterward.

Later. And so out the door at one, catching the downtown bus to head for the City Center and a turkey and Swiss sandwich with coffee at the usual bagel shop table outside, the sun bright, the day really nice. Clears the head, getting outside, and so a walk back along Broadway to Grand to take the bus to the stop at the apartment construction site and take a set of pictures. Always a good sign when I get off the damned bus to take the construction site pictures. Life in the fast lane at two in the afternoon in the middle of another week.

Later still. A slow day, a little funky, more for the sinuses rumbling in the background than anything else, and so a lie down on the bed to look for something interesting on the tablet. There are a couple of Korean “soaps” I've been watching in bits and pieces, parts of the overall story line interesting enough, but - lordy, lordy! - the long maudlin family and boy-girl scenes (complete with love songs and butterflies floating about) are stretched to the point of creepy. For me, anyway. The idea of admitting to watching any of them, were I younger, would be too embarrassing.

Again, a nice day, clear sky, seemingly clean air, the temperature nice. Great to be outside in a light jacket, the air just right.

But you're sitting here inside.

I've gotten my couple of miles of walking in, not hungry and, even if I were hungry, I can't think of anything I'd be willing go out and eat. So we'll futz around here, maybe play some guitar (gotta think about that guitar, find something to suck me into playing for a decent period every day) and then take a bath.

Evening. Nothing on television for the small number of channels to which I've got access (most people have something I believe they call “cable”), so we'll see if we can find something to carry us for an hour or two on the tablet and then turn the lights out by ten. If I'm going to get up after six, I'm OK with lights out by ten. Six to eight hours, not more and not less, said the latest information on how many hours are best for the beleaguered. Who am I to dispute the experts?