Egg Salad Sandwich
Monday. Still a pain using this laptop, at least the way I have it set up now on a stand by a chair in the living room. Not the sort of thing for any kind of production, particularly photographs.
Anyway, to bed early, to sleep not long after ten, up with the alarm before six, off to breakfast and back on a nice sunny morning, although they're saying there's one last storm due later today or this evening before we go into a stretch of good weather.
Nothing on the schedule, really. I'll go by the computer shop and see what they're doing with my computer. I really hope I haven't lost both of the big internal hard drives, but you never know. Not a way you like to learn one of life's little lessons.
Later. A walk down along the lake to the morning café to have a half sandwich, ice cream and coffee for lunch, back to lie down for a while. Hem. I mentioned I was wondering about the long period I've had now without any of the ocular migraine symptoms, not sure I didn't get some very light ones just now as I was returning. The dry mouth, the whatever.
Evening. OK, so some slight symptoms. They make for a couple of hours of feeling tiring/uncomfortable, but beyond that not really the end of the world. That half sandwich was an egg salad, one I've had before and then experienced similar symptoms, so I suspect we'll follow up on that, we will.
Naturally, given things, I walked down the way to the 7-11 look-alike to buy the small bottle of Jack Daniels, an ice cream cone, a package of Ranch Doritos and a can of bean dip. I'd been trying to figure out something to eat, there are many choices along this stretch of the street, but couldn't think of a single thing I could stomach before settling at the last minute on Ranch Doritos and bean dip. Ranch Doritos and bean dip? And ice cream? Well, I understand the ice cream.
Still, the whiskey clears the sinuses very nicely (they feel clear and feeling here is as good as them being) adding a mellow aspect to the evening, moderating any after effects of the ocular symptoms and allowing me to sit here having skipped the six o'clock police procedural (that I've suffered through before), substituting one of the various CSI-FBI potboilers (to my shame, but obviously not to my embarrassment). Now we're saying we're thinking of picking up the guitar. Doesn't sound hopeful.
Hopeless, my man. Totally hopeless.
All this from an abbreviated affair with an egg salad sandwich.