Monday. Skipped out on even checking the international detective program that was running (for two hours) starting at nine, last night, and got to bed well before ten. A little slow in getting up, but only two papers are delivered on Monday mornings, so there was still enough time to have breakfast, read the (two) papers and not have to feed a meter. Home now getting ready to drive to Mountain View and the neurologist's appointment. Feel OK about driving, no gripes, no hesitation. One is tempted to say this “feeling good” seems a bit odd.
Later. We went over the aches and pains, most of the major ones having gone away over this last year, the minor ones unfortunately still in evidence, without coming up with any additional thoughts as to what or why. As expected. What changes have occurred over this last year appear to have generally been to the good, so he gave me a reference to a neurologist here in Oakland with instructions to call him if things changed for the worse. No more fifty mile morning visits to Mountain View.
It's noon, time to get outside, maybe get lunch at the usual place. Whatever driving there is for the day is now done with no more appointments this week other than tomorrow's guitar lesson. Good. Some things are good, the more good the merrier.
Later still. A walk to lunch to have potato salad and a lemonade, my waitress urging me to have ice cream along with them and, when she brought it to the table, it was quite a bit of ice cream, more than what's included in their largest serving. I think they believe I'm underfed or I should be eating more. Odd to be “mothered” by women a third your age. I'm not sure you're allowed to complain.
Well, we've sort of decided by now that ice cream can bring on funky reactions, have we not? Funky reactions of the kind I'm experiencing right now? No more ice cream for the while. Silly to do what I did.
I haven't had the courage to wear the Google Glasses outside, not sure I ever will. So far I've figured them useless for photography, at least when I have a camera in hand, and I almost always have a camera in hand. They work, you can send them anywhere you like with the brush of a finger, but the idea of taking pictures surreptitiously, perhaps recording conversations, gives me the creeps. I don't like the idea I would or could play a role where I was giving myself and everyone else around me the creeps.
Setting out and coming home there was a single scoop loader working at the apartment construction site. I had to squeeze through a small opening in the canvas covered fence to get but two or three pictures, but two or three pictures I did get.
Evening. And so now I feel fine, as I usually do in the evenings, the head clear, the sinuses/upper palate quiescent (after taking an extra dose of the pain meds) and the attitude up. Too bad there's nothing to watch on television, although I'm still getting in the guitar practice whether I'm sitting in front of a screen or not.
To bed early? I'd think.