Tuesday. Another good night's sleep. We seem to have figured out how to make that happen. Some small adjustments and the thing seems to be under control. Be nice if I could do that with the sinuses.
Up on another cold but clear morning, a brisk walk to breakfast to have the plain waffle with sliced bananas and strawberries again. The walk back home, still cold, but the sun was now up over the horizon. They'd taken down the graffiti covered plywood protecting the front of the (what I believe is to be a) bar they're building next to the book store and that was pretty much the novelty of the morning.
The thought occurred, after editing yesterday's entry, that a change needs to take place right here with the New Year, with the journal anyway. What am I doing? It keeps me relatively content, if not totally amused with the snapshots and the writing, but the quality is, um, less than uplifting. Does it matter? So we'll think more about what needs to change between now and 2017.
Later. An automated call from the pharmacy and so a walk to Lakeshore to pick up a prescription refill that I wasn't expecting to pick up until tomorrow. Bundled up again and so the walk was comfortable enough, deciding to pick up another grilled chicken sandwich on the way home. Fifty-fifty on the sandwich. I wasn't really hungry one minute and then somewhat hungry the next, figured what the hell and did it.
The death of Carrie Fisher at the age of sixty in the news this morning. Sixty. I attended the San Francisco opening of that first Star Wars film back when. Liked the series well enough, although I'd never be considered a Trekkie. Perhaps the one thing that stopped me was her age: sixty. A similar reaction with George Michael's death at fifty-three. Didn't know who Michael was, but fifty-three made an impression, perhaps because so many others have passed on at a relatively young age in this last year, each one of them bringing back memories of friends and family who too have died too young.
Just something that got me thinking on the way to the pharmacy, the head in a bubble, remembering there wasn't a bubble a few years ago. Age and this sinus business, who knows how much comes from one or the other? But again, the pangs came from remembering friends and family who've gone, not so much thoughts about when we're due to join them. Be nice if there was indeed a “joining” after, a chance to share and laugh over some of the dumb moves we made in our lives.
Evening. Watched Democracy Now! (of course) and then spent time on the tablet waiting to see who Charlie Rose might be interviewing. Turned out to be an hour with Bono. Swell fellow Bono, righteous guy and all the rest, but not tonight.