Thursday. Watched Death In Paradise last night at eight, as mentioned, and then went right to bed to turn out the lights, awakening before the alarm to get up and head out the door to breakfast and back. Just like that. Oh, and no Times or Tribune this morning, although they'd arrived by the time I got home. Over an hour later than they've been delivered in the past, so a call today to confirm what's happening and see they're aware of the problem.
Later. A nap, maybe half an hour or so, but obviously needed or it wouldn't have been as easy to nod off. A bit antsy over skipping taking any photographs yesterday and so a bus downtown to the ATM on Broadway and then a walk to the Latham Square construction area to take the usual set of photographs. I'd seen a photograph posted on Twitter earlier this morning of a mural being painted on the back of the Cathedral building and was happy to see it was still being painted. And so pictures.
Hurried to catch the eleven-thirty bus home, arrived at the stop on time, but the bus didn't come. Or it had arrived and left ahead of schedule. Or I'd missed it somehow in passing. A bit fried, as we're always a bit fried in the mornings, but not that fried, and so another bus chalked up on the “did not come” board.
A free bus to Grand and then a walk to the apartment house construction site to take today's snapshots as it approached noon. I'd worn a light jacket over a long sleeved shirt, didn't need either by the time I was walking home, the sun bright all morning and the temperature slated to reach into the eighties later this afternoon. The only reason I wore the jacket was the long sleeved shirt was too rumpled. Odd to be worrying about something like “too rumpled” anymore.
Later still. Another short nap to awaken and take a look at the Times and the Tribune for the first time, but finding them difficult to read, the vision a little blurred. The mind a little blurred. Hmm. And so another nap for about an hour.
Awake again, but clear headed. Clear headed enough to look back and wonder about that earlier episode and realize how foggy/fuzzy the head had really been and somehow the events of this morning, the trip downtown, were all some tale from the past. Odd, that. Is it happening more and more often? The morning fades and it seems more like something that was done weeks ago once the afternoon arrives?
Well, screw it. Processed this morning's photographs for the rest of the afternoon, realizing again (again and again) how much more I had to learn about the technical side of processing and shooting these things. Best to start early on with this photography business. Really early. Like when your six or seven and you can then figure it out by the time you're fifty.
Evening. A repeat of an Inspector Lewis at eight that I don't need to see again. I'm not sure if I'll last long enough to watch the beginning of Vera that starts at nine-thirty, although I suspect I will. Nine-thirty, after all. Starts then, but ends at eleven. Still.