Up before sunrise.

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It isn't exactly early, rising at about 7:00, but it is earlier.  Cold out there, about 17°F, if my eyes read rightly, and foggy.  A special sort of winter dreariness, a haggard look, like a foggy rundown pier, only pulled into, wed with, our highland setting.  A strange, almost dangerous, feel to the scene.  Only it isn't a drunken dock worker or sailor who might get you, but the cold.

The furnace has been turned up, heat flows as I speak.  Toenails are becoming an issue, so will be hit.  A shower in a bit, then a shave, resetting dishes, and perhaps laundry... if I can get a load together.  Then, perhaps, a start on tearing boxes down and getting the upstairs arranged.

I am hoping to get the ducks arranged as soon as light is fuller.  There may not be much light today, so it's a sort of time thing?  Say, by nine?  That way, by seventeen hundred (five p.m.) a second water will ensure a better life.  They, for my part, are friends.  How else could care be rendered?

As appointments approach, someone reviewed a past post.  This isn't for my senior doctor.  Whatever else, I am quite certain he has worked through the demons of his nature by now.  Successfully?  That is a question only ever answered when the last card has been played and the tally assessed.  I don't even know, can't know, for myself.  Even I am not dead enough.  Yeah, I wouldn't recommend attempting to gaslight a superior at psyops.  It, well, it's just funny, younglings.

Blood sugar is slowly coming down.  It was 168 fasting.  I forgot slow acting insulin last night.  I had it ready, just... crashed at bedtime.  Half taken this mornin.  I'll get fresh tea started shortly, have chia with a fatted coffee, then figure out chores and work.  Navigating life is wicked difficult when death is so close.  For good or ill, the flesh just will not let go.  Strange thing is, it is the flesh that is most bereaved by a continued life.  The rest of us are... at ease with what, essentially, is.  Later.