One of the stacks of books in my bedroom spontaneously fell over a while ago, startling me, but when I picked them up I found a couple of books I'd forgotten I had and I'm going to put them next on my reading list, if I don't lose track of them again. At the rate I've been reading for the last year or so, I should finish my current supply when I'm about 114, which effectively means never. It's probably a good thing I've been stuck at home for a year. Otherwise I might have had enough books to last me until I'm 200 by now.
Given the irregularity of my sleep I'm not sure I'll be able to get to the stores Monday, but I'm going to try. Being out of step with the world is quite annoying. If I can't get out I'll need to have some stuff picked up for me, which never quite works out the way I plan. My sort of shopping is just too complicated to delegate. There's too much on-the-fly triage and improvisation. It's also the sort that is extra difficult when I'm short on sleep. Not being able to maintain a regular sleep schedule makes every day a pig's breakfast.
Mmm, breakfast. I'd really like some pancakes right now, but I need to go to sleep, if that's possible. First some fresh air outdoors. Maybe the mockingbird will sing me a lullaby.