Thursday. Up as planned without the alarm at six-thirty, to the hospital lab by seven-fifteen, blood drawn (and quartered) by seven-thirty, to breakfast and the papers by seven forty-five, home now at nine. My, my. Just like a machine: get up, get dressed, do the morning routines. (hup! hup!) The head feels pretty good, though. None of the aftereffects of sake and such from the night before.

It doesn't add much to the negative side of the scale, whatever amount it was I drank night before last, but what little it adds makes the day that much less wonderful given the ongoing daily upper palate crap. How many times have I said this? A bunch. We're not out in the swamps here telling ourself we're on dry ground, but it's best not to remember the night before, but the morning after. I'll have an excellent evening's sake again, but not for a while, and not in the quantities I could once handle as a youngster. Not that I approached anything like that Tuesday night.

Potential employers will see this and cross you off their list.

I'm pretty sure potential employers are looking for candidates two to three decades younger with shorter hair. I'm not applying for work anymore, hope to never do so again, although I just might (in passing) take what may once have been a prospective employer's picture. If there were something about her that lent itself to an interesting image.

Life is hard.

I learned this morning the new curtains are arriving at one, so I need to move various pieces of furniture out of the way before they arrive. Good. Best to have it happen - bing! - just like that. Gets you off your duff and done before you have a chance to think about it or procrastinate. Maybe I'll find my Bose radio clicker somewhere under the bed when I move it aside. How long has it been gone? Three months? Should I be concerned? About me and my get it all done in the next year or two attitude?

Later. Found the radio clicker behind the books on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases beside the bed. I've thought it might be there having looked everywhere else, but this particular book case and shelf were not easily accessible to any but the more aggressive and acrobatic. Now I'm able to manage the radio from under the covers, a useful thing to be able to do, let me tell you. Sloth. So comfortable, so silly when examined up close.

Is any of this really necessary to discuss?

Interesting stuff when you have the time to think about interesting stuff. What does it say about me? A good predictor of what silhouette we'll cut when the day comes to ride into the sunset?

Back to the moment: The drapes are in place, they look nice, the various pieces of furniture - tables and such - I had to move to get access to them have now been dusted and rearranged to better effect. Gives you a lift, doing this. When's the next time any of them will be dusted, rearranged and brought up to snuff? We'll not worry about it, not here, not now, not in Oakland.

Having waited for the drapes to arrive, I've put off my walk. So no pictures, but a brief visit to the sushi restaurant for a late lunch. A nice lunch, a light lunch, unless you count the green tea cheesecake. The serving is small, no reason to even mention it. And yes, a small sake to smooth out what has become an excellent afternoon. Nothing wrong with that. Certainly. A refill on the house, but a small refill after all, nothing to worry about.

The day has gone well, the attitude good, sake or not. Why, one day when I'm moving furniture about to make room for new drapes does the general feeling of well being soar, ideas arriving from every direction of projects to start, and then in another day, on what should be a good day, why does the day fall flat?

And why to you feel the urge to discuss it?

Online. They warn you about that. They do. Potential employers aside. “They.” Hard to say who “they” may be, deedle-dee-dee. Here (or there) in Oakland.