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Usually I can sleep forever, but not lately. There’s an ache in there, around the gluteus medius, that builds until there’s nothing to be done but get up.

It is hard to know how well the point got across Tuesday evening after work, when I tried to explain — in Spanish — East Hampton Village’s leaf blower law to a nice young man using one to tidy up the driveway behind The Star.

I may have mentioned this before, but I enjoy walking in the middle of the road.

I was telling Mary that I’d dreamed of a former boss dressed in a Santa suit, and she asked if I’d asked for a raise. Dream on, I said.

Lately I have been leaving the house early to get to the office by 6 to write before the distractions of the day begin.

Naomi Osaka first said that she’d be absenting herself from media interviews at the French Open, and then promptly passed on the whole shebang. Wringing of hands ensued.

Patchogue: Good for more than just thrift stores.

I was surprised, when I lived in rural Canada, to discover that not everyone in the Western world owns as much stuff as Americans do.

Spring was in the air, and so, evidently, was my head, for I had no idea until the middle of the following day that I had left my camera behind at Mashashimuet Park’s diamond.

East Hampton Village officials have been exceedingly busy in sprucing up the business district. But to what end?

It’s hard to remember what it felt like to walk around light and airy, believing that the world was getting better every passing year — rather than walking around as I do these days, with the chronic, sciatic understanding that everything is going to hell in a handbasket.

I probably should buy “Computers for Dummies,” but, given all the advances, it might be antiquated already.