Saturday. To sleep around the usual time to awaken, again as usual, around five to change positions and stretch to alleviate the sore chest, back to sleep again to awaken after six, setting out to walk to breakfast under a partly cloudy, soon to be sunny sky, arriving to settle in at my outside table and start on the papers.

The two strips of bacon (they brought three), scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee this time, finishing up well after nine to set out for home, shooting the usual set of flower pictures, bending down to take this one when I heard shouting close behind me.

There's a mind damaged very tall and very thin man that looks to be around my age with long hair, filthy clothes and a bushy scraggly beard that I've passed in walking to breakfast a number of times in the past who will shoot his arm out high and violently shout his displeasure at the state of the world at the person he's just passed, getting their absolute attention. Is he violent? Will he follow through and physically attack?

So far the decision has been he's severely psychologically damaged, but so far hasn't physically attacked anyone. Anyway, as I was taking the picture of the flower, he came up behind me shouting that he knew I was a government agent that was out to kill him. I moved into the street, he continuing to shout at me from the sidewalk before walking on.

OK, he was headed off into the distance and so, keeping that distance, I walked to the next flower and bent over to focus on taking its picture while he'd evidently turned around again to see me taking the picture and returned shouting that I wanted to kill him. I moved farther out into the street this time, he now following, shouting, and then turning around and heading off as he'd done before. I let him put a whole lot more distance between us before I resumed walking to take another picture.

OK, the excitement for the month. He'd turned off the sidewalk and was no longer in sight, so on below the Lakeview school to the 580 Overpass, crossing MacArthur at the light, taking a picture of the traffic cones they'd set up to block off El Embarcadero (what's happening there?) and on to the apartment for the selfie before settling in here at the computer.

Later. Tired this afternoon, spent it watching the PGA tournament being held over in San Francisco that started at one and didn't end until seven this evening.

Evening. Still tired. Tired all day. Tried watching the beginning of Fearless, the PBS Saturday night movie at eight, but found at least the start of it too dorky and so to bed with lights out after ten, to sleep soon after.

Dorky?

Overplayed. Over the top. Dumb. Nice idea, losing all fear after surviving a plane crash, but again played too over the top.