Sunday. Lights out before ten to awaken finally at six-thirty getting a longer than usual night's rest. Maybe I was more tired yesterday than I was thinking. Anyway, took my time getting up before driving to breakfast, the waitress suggesting I arrive somewhat later than usual on this Mother's Day. Arrived at ten after seven, the restaurant open, this overcast day well begun.

Had the two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast and coffee for breakfast over the papers, not finishing until well after nine. The usual two pictures walking to the car and then driving over to the gas station to fill the tank. No thought to go on to the supermarket, maybe think about that later.

You're not going to think about it later.

Maybe walk to Whole Foods for some fruit, see what else might appeal when I'm there while getting the walking in.

Home to finish yesterday's entry where I blathered on about the Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn movie I'd skipped watching last night. Copped out with the blabbering comment. The baby they were bringing up I seem to remember was a leopard and maybe I'd have warmed to the brainless character Grant seemed to be playing if I'd continued. And maybe best just not to confuse myself by addressing the question without more time and effort.

Your mind continues to trap you into going around in circles over these movies, I see.

Going around in circles? I? For all to see?

Later. A bus to the ATM on Broadway to then a (for me) brisk walk home, skipping any thought of taking pictures at the apartment house construction site on Webster, 23rd and Valdez, stopping to pick up an ice cream sandwich at the 7-11 look-alike. OK, it's after noon, what now? Golf, as it happens. Tiger Woods doing well. Haven't really ever wanted to play the game after some experimenting in high school, but interesting to watch. I could say the same about football: don't want to play, fun to watch a game.

We're drifting again.

Maybe best we stop.

Evening. Played some guitar, but not nearly enough. Well, not enough to get any better or to catch up, get the chord changes into some semblance of order. No real desire to do more than just fiddle around. Strum around.

The two episodes of Elementary ran in the background while practicing to then take a look at something called My Mothers and Other Strangers on PBS starting at eight, but again, found it difficult to follow for their accents. Bailed after half an hour to go to bed and crash. Tired this early evening, maybe due to yesterday's running around? It's happened as I remember in the past.