I haven’t done a very good job of getting sleep. I can go down for a few hours at the beginning of the night, but it doesn’t last. I’m up by 3 and staring into the darkness for the next three or more hours. I wish I could make that time productive. The best I end up doing is sorting through ideas in my head; resolving conflicts in my novel revision to be jotted down later. That is productivity after a fashion, but as the habit continues, I am continuing to be more and more run down. We have an extra-long day today, but we’ve agreed to take the next two off and spend them on the beach, getting up whenever we want, and, hopefully, falling into a routine with the writing and exercise.
That is not to say I am not getting exercise. The ten miles of daily walking is plenty of exercise. It feels good, but the pictures taken of me show me how far I really need to go. It is a bad situation with the weight. It keeps climbing when home, and here I can only hope it is leveling out and, at best, declining. The pictures show a man with an awfully large belly—the worst kind of fat for an older person. I need to get it right as soon as I can.