There’s always an odd tinge to Donald Trump’s skin, but I swear it looked even odder the other day, and I doubt it’s my television set. It had a new, exaggerated flush, as if his heart was racing or beating erratically. He was sweaty, too. I’m not diagnosing anything. Just making an observation.

And his recall. It’s beyond spotty. He said last week that Robert Mueller had so badly bungled his congressional testimony that he had to release a sort of do-over letter clarifying what he’d meant, but Mueller did no such thing. Bill Barr was the one who mucked things up . Trump had mixed up the two, which is something that happens more and more as your mind dulls. I’m merely quoting the literature.

I also wonder: What’s with all the private “executive time” on his daily White House schedule, when he’s off by himself, unobserved and unobservable? He could be hooked up to a dialysis machine. He could be receiving transfusions. I don’t have evidence of either. But who needs proof when you have suspicions?

And why should I hold those in check when the president and his enablers make no effort to?

In 2016 they sought to sow doubts about Hillary Clinton’s physical fitness by homing in on every errant step she took, every bit of exhaustion she flashed, every inscrutable glaze of her eyes. With deft editing of video footage and dire analysis from the likes of Rudy Giuliani, they turned the inevitable wobbles during an excruciating marathon into “Weekend at Bernie’s.” Clinton was a corpse — well, a near corpse — being animated by secretive aides and propped up by Democratic desperation. Vote for her at your peril.