I'm not trying to romanticize Charlie and his doings. Wednesday, these were not very varied:
Long bouts (measured in hours) of what I feel should be called Extreme Stim, in his room, the living room across from the front door, the kitchen, the bathroom.
A late morning bike ride towards the latter part of which Charlie, legs starting to shake, ran from off his bike and was headed for some houses but Jim grabbed the back of his shirt à la Athena taking Achilles about to draw his sword on Agamemnon by the hair and Charlie was talked back into getting on his bike without a bite and made it back home.
Maybe all that was connected to Charlie keeping his bike helmet, skullcap, gloves and ankle strap on for the next 6 or 7 hours as he stood and 'went through his (almost non-moving) paces.'
Around 8pm he polished off most of the watermelon in the refrigerator, after not eating much (a few apples) all day.
He talked a little which was a lot as he barely said anything on Tuesday (sign of a sore throat).
Though I'd seen Charlie yawning, he is up and it's late night (3am ish) shower time.
(Pace pole-sitting saints, indoor plumbing rules.)