68ºF, rain: a calmer Derbz than yesterday, having either reached an acceptance of inclement weather (he really, really hates rain) or increased hopes of at least one game of DerbzBall today – until it rains again (and again) because I really don't want him to slip and tear something; another fortnight in the cone of shame isn't in the cards. I'm sorry, dogchildren, but I'm not Halle Berry in a bad wig. Stop looking at me like that.

More TD-1K fiddling yesterday: the included songs keep the tradition of charmingly lame playalong accompaniments that are, nonetheless, useful for improv: fond memories of having to come up with things on the spot, working to get that independence of feet and hands and right and left back – and better than before, given that I'm not (as much of) the undisciplined jackoff of my previous musical iteration.

The rower has founds its new home: my back no longer screams every time it enters that room; in the rower’s place, the punching bag will rise later today – undoubtedly with the aid of a bored Derbz and much impatience.