Saturday. Lights out whenever it was to awaken at six-twenty, pretty much on target this clear sky, the sun soon to arise, morning, the blood pressure 87/70 when I got up. Are you supposed to be able to get up when the pressure is 87/70? Was the reading right? I was a little slow, a little fuzzy, I'll admit, so out the door at six forty-five and arriving just after the restaurant had opened at seven. Blood pressure high or low, we're off on another weekend.

The two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, finishing up around eight-thirty to walk home on this now sunny morning.

Later. The blood pressure 95/68 after nine, still low, the day still slow, and so checked to see if the BMW golf tournament was on television. It was indeed just starting and so watched it on and off for close to an hour before heading to the bedroom to watch today's episode of Mr. Sunshine on the tablet. It does drag along until it doesn't and when it doesn't you forget all the dragging.

Later still. Still concerned over skipping the San Francisco Climate March this morning. What exactly makes me hesitate going? How many times have I jumped on BART to the Embarcadero station, just on and off and I'm there? Worried I'm at the edge of the head dropping further into some dysfunctional fuzziness? Silly concerns about carrying the camera? Age taking a toll?

More back and forth with the tablet and television and not much else, writing this tomorrow morning after having given up yesterday on any thought of coherent writing. Another afternoon, in other words.

Evening. The blood pressure 125/76 at one-thirty, 111/76 at six-fifty, this after what are now five days in a row without taking the blood pressure med. Which is good, I guess, if the idea is to get off the meds for, um, positive reasons.

More scooting around on the tablet, nothing of interest on television and so lights out by ten. Why so late? Not sure, it just seems to have worked out that way.