A Bit Different
Monday. Watched Foyle's War last night (of course), got to bed before eleven and then up at six-thirty to arrive at breakfast before seven to have the waffle with bananas and strawberries and read the papers. So far, so good, but tired when I got home and so an hour's nap after quickly posting yesterday's entry.
Sitting here at the screen now thinking of lunch, the morning pretty much shot by moping about and sleeping. Such is the nature of life here in our eighth decade. Sobering when it's put like that: made it to seven, working on eight. Science fiction comes to Oakland.
Later. Another slow day, I'm afraid. Don't have sake to blame it on, fortunately or unfortunately. Nothing over the top, but the excitement (and exercise) for the day so far has been a walk across the way to the burger drive-in to pick up a steak sandwich. Hungry. Not really up for one but every now and then, but we were smack on our weight at one-sixty this morning, the burger place is close by and there's not much effort in walking across the street.
Watching the news now while playing guitar, our lesson tomorrow. They go quickly, these weeks, whether their days are fast or slow.
Evening. Another weird Scandinavian (Norwegian) thing called The Half Brother at six. I guess my use of “weird” isn't really appropriate. Yes, the switching back and forth between time periods is distracting, but not an uncommon story telling device. People being nasty, opaque and unpleasant to one another is the mother's milk of drama, Norwegian or American, so that's another one I can't complain about and so weird is only my own take.
So I switched to the Korean soap (with other just as effective elements to give me fits) just as it was beginning when The Half Brother episode finished, skipping out on the second The Half Brother episode that followed and watching the high fructose Korean soap.
There are other channels, other sources with stuff most regular people watch with interest.
I know. I'm aware, but I'm for whatever reason stuck in my own comfortable little rut. Maybe this will lead to clarifying my thoughts. Writing, even this dump it all without thinking writing, generally leads to focus and maybe, after a decade or two, enlightenment.
The program following at nine, the British female detective duo, continued with the story line they'd started last week. Interesting from the women's viewpoint it takes: all the men so far are child men and idiots (obviously an observation none of us here have ever heard expressed) and the story line is in that sense more than a bit different. So we watched. And made notes.