Wednesday. Awoke at six-oh-seven after a decent night's rest to get up and find myself hobbling about with the small toe on my right foot aching. Looked alright, not broken, but I'd bumped it last night wearing just my socks on a framed print leaning against my set of dresser drawers and it was telling me this morning it was pissed. Second time I've done this in these last two months, maybe do something about those framed pictures I've had sitting at the base of the dresser now since forever.

Thought about driving and so took the car keys when I headed out the door, but figured I was limping a bit, yes, but realized I could walk as easily as not and so walked to breakfast, arriving to find the restaurant open, settling in at my table and starting on the papers. Had no clue as to what I wanted, but settled on the two strips of bacon, eggs over medium, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee. At least that's what came out of my mouth when asked. Of course it all went down without a second thought or problem.

Finished up around eight-thirty (again), documented the six cent a gallon increase in the price of regular, snapped another photograph of the construction they'd started yesterday across from the café and set out for home taking the usual set of pictures.

And you're not totally tired with shooting these every morning? Not even a thought to try different subjects?

Doesn't seem to get under my skin other than going over it here. Another of a scooter and bicycle rider at the 580 Overpass, of one remaining Lyft scooter sitting by the lake, all that's left of a line of them I'd passed earlier while walking in this morning, finishing with another selfie in the apartment building lobby, the hobbling at a minimum. I'm guessing it's going to take a few days to heal, however. You hear old guys have more accidents. Might be true.

Later. Limping more in slippers than I was in shoes, ending up listening to Trump's news conference with the president of Ukraine on television, Trump seemingly rattled and bloviating on all over the block on the impeachment inquiry. You read now and again about how nuts he can get behind closed doors with his advisers. Makes you fear how close by the guy with the nuclear codes might be sitting.

Evening. Skipped Midsomer Murders without checking to see which version or episode was playing at eight and went to bed instead. Probably not good to go to bed earlier than is the habit, but I suspect we'll know more tomorrow.