Thursday. Lights out at ten to awaken twice during what seemed at the time a long and uneven night with the sinus-upper palate acting up, deciding to get up at three to take the morning's pain meds early and then go back to sleep, awakening finally at quarter to six. Too early, but the pain meds seem to have done the trick. Up and out the door to walk to breakfast on another overcast morning.

We'd had a high of ninety-four degrees yesterday, but they're saying a high of seventy-four today and, from the looks of the overcast sky, they may well be right. We'll hope they're right. Checked the phone battery when I got up (of course). It was eighty-nine percent charged, this two days now after having charged it last, the rapid loss earlier apparently an aberration. Still, happy to have a replacement on the way.

I do have things to do and best to get on with them. There's a prescription refill to be picked up later and I'm thinking it might be a good time to get a flu shot. We are pretty good about getting the annual flu shot, less good about getting much else done. We find, as we stumble along.

Later. A better day than yesterday, I'd say, and so a walk to the pharmacy to pick up that refill, stopping on the way back to have two scoops of ice cream at Dreyer's. Been a while since I've done that.

Heading out over along the lake I could see three pelicans in the distance near the far shore paddling toward me. They've surprised me in the past by how quickly they can move without apparent strain or effort. I've seen these three on many occasions, scooping up whatever it is they feed on along the shore. So pictures. Of course.

Evening. A call from an editor putting together a book on Dave Sheridan's art, wanting me to go over with him Dave's early years at the Rip Off Press. More a coffee table book of his work than a biography and so we scheduled a phone interview for tomorrow morning. Not sure what I can contribute, but we'll give it a try. Dave died much too young in the early eighties.

The late afternoon and now evening have been funky, something I particularly noticed on the phone with the editor. A moment or two of confusion. Not over the top, but real enough, and so checked out Charlie Rose briefly at eight and then checked out the first ten minutes of a Inspector Lynley mystery series episode on public television. Ten minutes was enough.

That ice cream earlier responsible for the “fuzzy headed” stuff?

I thought it was the last time I'd had two scoops at the Dreyer's shop and an ocular incident had come along later, deciding back then to quit. Cut it to one scoop, maybe, but otherwise stop?