You're going to mention this to the medicos, right?

Oh, sure. This is not the first adjustment downward. This seems, you know, to be a next chapter in a book of chapters, hopefully this being the last. Last in the sense of adjusting one's medications downward, you understand, not the last in the sense of, well, the book book. That book. Mumble bumble, babble scrabble.

Early morning still, you'll come out of it.

It is morning still, but not that early in the morning. A good long night's sleep, last night, then a nap (maybe an hour or so) after I got back from breakfast. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Nothing to drink last night other than water, watch pieces of some generally awful Korean soaps (the one where the attractive protagonist seems to have multiple people inside her head and her eyes turn an ultra-violent back-lit blue when she's pissed, for example), then to bed. Rock and roll.

Later. A walk down by the farmer's market, stopping to take a picture or two of the two groups who demonstrate across the street from one another every week by the theater, idly wondering how they chose which corner they'll occupy as it changes as often as not. The first member of the first group to arrive gets to choose? Probably. No need to accept any of their literature, I've taken it in the past, the photograph more a reflex than not, women dressed in black lending themselves to an extra bit of visual drama, of course.

So, I had lunch at the usual place (I feel a twinge of guilt when I eat there twice in a day - who is this whacko, doesn't he have a life?) before walking back. Out of breath after climbing the hill, but none of the dizziness aspects of the past, the blood pressure twenty points lower than normal top and bottom. I'm out of shape. There are known solutions to that. The low blood pressure? Well, we'll see in another couple of days I would think.

So (we started the last paragraph with “so” as well as the first paragraph, come to think of it) the day has gone along: I took the walk down the way to have lunch and I've been back in the apartment now since; I haven't done squat, haven't called after Mr. Wilson to see how he's doing, although I will do so tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to watching whatever they'll have of my various Korean, Japanese and Chinese (what happened to the Chinese soaps?) soaps this evening, it being traditional on a Saturday after six.

Shouldn't I be more aggressive with this living business, with or without the various “sinus-head-dizzy as a bee inside my noggin” stuff? Well, shouldn't I? I'm not sure why. Probably not. A man with a traditional American breakfast under his belt and an Asian soap or two in his heart (not to mention a camera over his shoulder affecting his balance) is pretty much complete, don't you think?