Thursday. Seems to have taken forever to get to sleep last night, the process more like a stone skipping across the water. Which means what? Still feel reasonably good, not all that sleepy, even after spending a whole lot of extra time trying to make yesterday's entry readable before posting. How often have I complained/explained this one specific problem? Too many times. Too many.
I do need more Latham Square pictures after missing out yesterday and I am curious to see if they've made progress on those forms they were putting in place at the back of the apartment house construction site across the street. Still, it's now ten-thirty, the time to be heading downtown on the bus rather than sitting here at the computer if I were serious. We'll know more in the next paragraph.
Later. No bus, but a walk over to the apartment house construction site to take a set of pictures and then have a muffin and coffee at the coffee shop on the corner. They're obviously going to pour more cement, putting in walkways that cut through areas for grass (the current drought makes me wonder about grass) or something equally wonderful. I have not a thought of what that might be at the moment.
It's now into the low eighties, another overly warm day, although again, not as bad as last week's temperatures up into the nineties. Too warm certainly to be out in the sun in a t-shirt, too warm in the shade without a breeze. No breeze. If memory serves, we may continue with this through the end of October. October 28th (1969) was my first day on my first real job in San Francisco and it rained like crazy. I've always used the date as the psychological if not the actual beginning for cooler fall/winter weather.
No, we're not going downtown to photograph Latham Square. We're putting it off again. Until tomorrow.
Thousands are throwing their hands up at this news in horror!
Life is a roller coaster.
Later still. Sat down and processed today's pictures a little more slowly and with less enthusiasm than I have recently, but they're done. More time watching this and that on the tablet, a little tired.
Evening. I'd seen the Inspector Lewis that started at eight and so skipped back and forth between it and the first of three Charlie Rose interviews. The Vera that started at nine-thirty was also one I've seen before, at least the beginning. I seem to recall I'd bailed on it at about ten minutes in the first time around, about the same amount of time at which I bailed on this one.