There was another cooked dinner Sunday might, but this one didn't make me logy. It was a bit smaller than the one Saturday night. I'm now thinking about a bedtime snack, which might involve cinnamon toast, though I didn't put any butter out to get soft. I suppose I could put a couple of pats in a bowl and microwave it briefly. (Don't mind me, just thinking on the Internet.) Then I'll go read for a while. I started another book, an it has a murder in it, but it isn't English and it isn't a detective story. It's Fannie Flagg's Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I've seen the movie a couple of times but never read the book before. This is as good a time as any to do it.
But now I find I've run out of brain again. That happens with increasing frequency. I just stall and go blank. I'm pretty sure I just spent the last forty minutes or so nowhere at all. Weird.
Cinnamon toast. Book. Sleep.