Friday. To bed early, but sleeping in until six-thirty this time, the time I'd like to wakeup every morning as it's lighter outside and there's less chance I'll avoid walking to breakfast. Go figure. All this complaining about waking up early and then still going to bed too early, yet somehow awakening at the hoped for time.

Overcast, the ground wet, they're saying rain later today with serious rain over the weekend. No rain walking to and from breakfast, albeit in a light low lying fog, lying down when I got home instead of first editing and then posting yesterday's mumblings. A dose of the pain meds for the sinuses around ten, we'll take care of picking up the prescriptions at the new pharmacy later before it rains again.

A slow start to a slow day. Let's hope this isn't our future, day in and day out.

Later. Again this tired business. Ah, well. A walk to the pharmacy on Lakeshore. They'd received the prescription orders and packaged them up, but the insurance company had declined to pay as my old pharmacy, when it too received the prescription order, had (of course) notified the insurance carrier. Seems they don't want to pay twice.

A walk back to the apartment under an overcast (now starting to rain) sky to have a bagel with cream cheese and coffee at the café by the fitness center (hungry) and then to call the old pharmacy when I got home. They said they understood and will cancel the order. That's what they said. I'll believe it when I see it. He said.

Watched last night's Elementary on the tablet and listened to various talk and news programs. Not simultaneously, you understand. I did read the debate commentary night on the Times and Guardian web sites, but then gave up. Not sorry to have skipped watching the debate. Hard enough to listen to the pundits the morning after. Europe thinks we're nuts. We think they're nuts. We're all nuts but won't admit it.

Evening. Nothing on television and so I continued with a Vivian Maier documentary on the tablet, the photographer discovered by a collector who ran across thousands of her negatives after her death. My interest was initially in the discussion of the habits and technique of another street photographer and secondarily, after getting into the documentary, what seems to have driven someone in a life lived with a Rolleiflex around her neck.

And?

She was evidently inhabited by demons much nastier than my own. I don't envy the photographs if they were paid for with that kind of grief. Better to, um, paddle into a sunset than be driven by storms.