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Good morning. It is now 3:30 am and I have not been able to sleep. At first it was the meds not working. Then my feet started trying to tie themselves into knots. By the time I had these things under control my brain was wide awake. Perhaps it was all the excitement today. I started out with a fall from the toilet. Now falling is bad in and of itself, but when you add the fact that I wound up in between the toilet and the bathtub, a cat who just had to investigate this new method of locomotion, a spouse who expected me to solve this little problem, and no meds. Let’s just say the experience was unique. I must say, though, that I gave a wonderful step by step how to get me out of here dialog. I remained calm in the midst of adversity and came out of the adventure without a scratch. Having taken most of the morning entertaining the cat in the above manner, it was time for lunch. I discovered the schlotsky veggie sandwich. Now being a confirmed carnivore I usually give anything having the faintest scent of vegetarian about it the same treatment a cat gives a suspicious lump in the litter box. This sandwich, however, had none of the over rich sauces or highly spiced mystery mixes I’ve found on most veggie offerings. The vegetables were raw, crisp, and cool. They consisted of sweet onion, lettuce, tomato, olive, and cucumber and were served on fresh baked bread. I was even able to get it without the ever present cheese that most of the world seems to be unable to live without. The sandwich was even of a size I could get my mouth around, not the overlarge assault vehicle commonly called New York style. With this lovely, eatable, object I had a bottle of IBC. For those of you who have not sampled it, IBC in a bottle is as close as you can get to root beer heaven this side of an iced mug of A&W. With lunch out of the way and the meds working fairly well, We went to a local fantasy fair by the name of HawkWood. As a general rule, if you are physically less than perfect and want to go somewhere where you won’t stick out or seem unusual, go to a fantasy fair. In a place where you will meet would be heroes in tin suits, warrior princes wannabes, closet Vikings, and ladies dressed in everything from “have I left anything uncovered?” to “connect the dots”, a dude zipping around in a metal chair continually shaking a bottle of orange juice is not going to be looked at twice. HawkWood, however, is not the best fair around primarily because the performers and characters are all about the same age. There is no feeling of being in a village because there are no old or very young actors. The last stop on our ramble is the bane of married males everywhere, the supermarket. I’m uncertain at what point a married man becomes unwilling to escort his lovely wife to this seemingly save repository of life’s essentials. Perhaps, for some, it is the moment his beloved places what used to be a large blue and white box . . . Oh my, it’s almost morning! Marvin Giles.