Sunday. Cold, some rain, awake without an alarm at six-thirty to head out to breakfast with the three Sunday papers in tow. I obviously don't read every story, every section, but it still takes two and a half hours to go through them on a Sunday, an hour and a half during the rest of the week.
No particular effects I can feel from two bottles of Corona last night, that trip down to the 7-11 look-alike yesterday I suspect more an act of boredom than any interest in junk food or drink.
Have no ideas for spending the day. A nap when I returned from breakfast spending more than the usual time trying to salvage yesterday's entry. No problem in wandering all over the block with the writing, but you need to spend enough time editing if you're going to bring it off (even more perhaps with this dull dry as dust narrative of mine) and I'm not spending the time. Ah, well. It's the truth. Obviously I can live with it.
Later. Cold out there. Sunny, but cold, even in a sweater and a winter coat, heading out the door and over to the lake before looking back at the construction site across Grand. Someone pushing the fence over off its supports? Probably that or an accident.
A very short walk along the lake before turning back to check out the fence. A couple of not very illuminating pictures and then right back to the apartment. What am I going to do with these construction pictures? Are they as inane as the pandorea flower photographs or the gas price change pictures? They need a story line, a context. I think. Well, we'll think later, fret later. For now a nap.
Later still. A bit of diarrhea late in the afternoon (the Corona last night?), really tired, another nap, no time yet on the guitar.
Evening. And so I slept, watched part of a movie on the tablet and then slept again. Out of it. For what reason I have no idea, but to bed early, up tomorrow with a whole different attitude and actual energy. Please.