Saturday. To bed early, as mentioned, with nothing I wanted to watch on the tablet to keep me up, and so lights out by ten to awaken at six-thirty, just about right for a decent night's sleep. Wide awake, up and out the door to drive to breakfast on another clear, bright and sunny morning. And day. A cold winter day. Rather nice.
Nothing happening I'm aware of this weekend other than today's farmers market. I wonder, if I were to make it a task, if I might find pictures at the market? Act like a real photographer, in other words? I suspect I might. With luck. And a camera. And gumption.
Later. Bright sun, but cold, so a scarf and winter coat over a sweater. Still not enough, should have added the goose down jacket over the sweater. Still, a walk to the lake and by the Capoeira dancers practicing at the white columns and then on to the farmers market where I took all of two less than wonderful images.
OK, got the head back together at the ice cream shop over two scoops in a cup, back then by the Grand Lake theater where another line had begun forming for what I was again thinking was Tarantino's The Hateful Eight, as it was the first feature playing in another half an hour. Might have been one of the others starting an hour later, Star Trek the obvious alternative. A couple of pictures.
Home at noon, nothing planned for later. Don't want to go downtown or to Jack London Square, other places I've gone in the past without a thought are not even on the radar. But we'll see. No complaints. Nice day as mentioned.
Later still. The upper teeth and palate have been acting up more than usual today, a second dose of the pain meds in the early afternoon and now thinking of taking another. Normally it's one dose in the mornings, occasionally a second if they're acting up later, but rarely three. Let's hope it's the weather and not something I'm going to have to deal with from now on into the future.
Watching the news, nothing coming up that I'm aware of I want to watch later, we' see if we can't get to bed and to sleep early.
That will throw off your routine. Lights out at ten, up at or after six-thirty.
Evening. The upper palate and teeth straightened themselves right out without that third dose of meds I'd been thinking of taking. It's odd how it goes. Sometimes you're sitting there thinking, where'd that come from, is this going to last for the rest of the whatever and then it just goes away on its own, often sooner than later.
A Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles at seven, one I've of course seen before, read and then seen again many times in the past (I have the Basil Rathbone version sitting up on a shelf), but watched it until eight (they were playing Part One, I'm assuming a Part Two will follow this next weekend) and so then to bed. Maybe something on the tablet, maybe something on the radio, maybe we'll find a way to stretch it out and turn those lights out again at ten.