Tuesday. To bed early enough, nothing really catching my attention on the tablet and so lights out by ten. A somewhat uneven night's sleep, but still within what I guess is now the normal range, to awaken at six-thirty and take my time getting ready to head out to breakfast. Better that it had been seven, better still seven-thirty, but beggars can't be choosers. It could have been six.

Grumble, grumble.

Another nice sunny morning, clear skies, a road construction crew and their equipment parked along Grand all the way from the theater to my morning restaurant. Not sure where they're going to be working as they'd recently refinished the street they're parked. Not that I care other than to note they've been spending quite a bit of money on the roads in this area of Oakland and wonder (just a little) about the politics in how this particular relatively upscale area has been so consistently chosen over less prosperous others.

Later. It's in the low eighties, say the weather people, and I believe them. The particulate content is out of the safe zone (says the tablet app), but the sinuses and upper palate have been behaving, nothing going on with them that's out of the ordinary and so we've spent the late morning and early afternoon here inside putting together another section of apartment house pictures for the web sites. We've done one, I'm thinking of doing another. A dry period, when I was taking those pictures, but the subject picks up (puts on its white exterior) just one month later. We want to get to later.

A walk to the 7-11 look-alike to resupply the diet Coke and buy a pint of Strawberry ice cream, thinking we can use the calories and not thinking about the ocular aspects until later after I'd finished. When was the last time I've had a pint of ice cream and then entered into ocular's very odd territory? Well, we've just initiated another test to see if there's a connection.

Spent the rest of the afternoon putting together another apartment house construction site section.

Later still. As it approaches five-thirty and the debate, the mouth has gone dry and the head is floating about at bit, not quite an ocular episode, but I suspect brought on by the ice cream. Not good, I'd guess. Well, maybe the debate will be a bit scrambled, but I'll be clear headed enough to comprehend. I hope. We'll know soon.

Evening. The head turned right around, whatever it was (yes, I blame it on the ice cream, probably best to not eat an entire pint at one sitting from now on), and so I listened to the Democratic debate in good fettle.

Oh, and I did, once the head came back down to earth, go back and recount the pills I'd put into the plastic pill dispenser for next week to check, since I'd loaded it with the head loaded, to see how badly I'd screwed up. Pretty badly. Mustn't do that again. He said.