Need To Sleep

Odd sleep patterns do not easily disappear. I went to bed around 11:30 last night, woke up at 1:30, switched out the dishwasher, prepped J’s lunch (Fruit cup. Tuna salad), went back to bed around 3:30. I was up again at 7:00, and now, I feel bedtime coming back again.

I will sleep, awaken to get to AA round noon.

Emotional Sobriety H.A.L.T.


H. Hungry A. Angry L. Lonely. T. Tired

Alcoholics Anonymous is chock full of pithy sayings intended to support persons in recovery from alcoholism. One such saying is HALT, outlined above. I smugly thought that my emotional sobriety was in good shape, until I compared how I felt according to the HALT yardstick.

Hungry. I didn’t let myself get hungry. No I was eating at every chance and weight that I lost was coming back, and I never thought feeding my upset was a sign of emotional dis-ease.

Angry. I thought I was justified in the outright anger around issues I’m powerless over, like politics and the Roman Catholic Church. Add to those the petty resentments that I have toward J about the sexual desert.

Lonely. No sex. Need I say more?

Tired. I would sleep at every chance I get.

Here I was, trudging through life, with one issue after another, never thinking about drinking, but attached to the grievances of life, feeling like I deserved to hold all these resentments. Wrong. They were taking a toll.

In all likelihood, none of these circumstances will suddenly disappear. But you know, I don’t have to let them run my life.

I learned this Monday

I learned just how lonely I am. I had this realization sitting in the AA meeting that I need to connect with people. I can’t do this at home reading or watching sports, porn, and YouTube.

Actually I saw my porn viewing today, as directly related to my loneliness, I watch three particular videos over and over of the same couple making love, having sex, or whatever it is they re doing when they’re going to town. Not that it matters, but they are lesbian. They look like regular people, no fake tits or impossibly small asses. In my fantasy, they are a real-life couple and they really are in love. How they make love is how I want to connect with J, minus the strapon, fully, completely, and surrendered. Both of us surrendered, to each other.

The pain of loneliness hit me like a ton of bricks this weekend. I need people, much as I like to think I don’t.

Sunday. 13. X. 19.


I had plans. First, I went to Mass at 8:30 with my sister and her husband at St Benedict. They are attending St Benedict now. They like the priest, the liturgy, in English, is dignified and reverent. They got tired of the priest at their old parish, who is really good at telling jokes. So good, in fact, he abandoned any real meaningful content in his homilies. This happens. It isn’t stand-up, Father.

After Mass, I came home, ate breakfast, slept. J came home. She had six boxes of sun care products to get to Fed Ex. I went with her. We had another late lunch/early dinner. I came home, slept some more.

Now baseball. Tie game right now. I love watching the Yankees’ middle inning relievers. They are as tough as nails. The Budweiser commercial with Superwoman at the bar, showing the boy bar flies how to shoot pool, throw darts, and arm wrestle, all while holding her bottle of Bud, was just on. Stupid. Annoying. But that’s TV. Americans will put up with all kinds of nonsense to watch a good game.

I did not get to swim today. Bummer. The odd sleep patterns are getting to me. But I’m focusing back into doing what works, diet, swimming, meetings. So working through interruptions, like getting boxes to Fed Ex, the lunch out afterwards I was not expecting, are part of the drill.

Now let’s get this game over.

Evening Update


Late lunch/early dinner with J, Swimming, watched some of the Yankees game with J. I bought her some of her favorite cookies. Desperation level is appreciably lower. I am as happy about the shift in circumstances as I can be.

Lack of sleep, body pain, more clutter around the house all combined to heighten the sense of hopelessness. Today showed me where the tools of recovery help. “Don’t give up five minutes before the miracle.” is one of those pithy sayings we take to heart.

Tomorrow I will go to 8:30 Mass, where I will meet my sister and brother-in-law. I will go swimming. I will fix chili for supper.

I have to admit it’s getting better, getting better all the time.” Lennon/McCartney

Morning’s End


We are five minutes away from noon on a strange morning for me. I have a hunger, not from the belly, but rather the heart.

I feel what is missing, an embrace, a gift of time. We two have not been one far too long as the fissure broadens to a gap.

How did we get so busy?

How did we let fear win?

Why did we choose to risk….


Follow-up To Today’s Insomniac Interlude

I went with the Russian Orthodox Liturgy. There was a funeral from Svatagorsk Lavra in Eastern Ukraine. This area recognizes the Moscow Patriarchate for ecclesiastical jurisdiction rather than Kiev. This will give you some context, for Ukraine is very much a fractured country, with language and ethnicity differences between Eastern and Western Ukraine. Many ethnic Russians live in Eastern Ukraine. Anybody remember the Civil War from a few years back? The Ukraine-Russia conflict is centuries old, with genocide in the 1930’s figuring into the tragedy.

The women in their babushkas, the priests in their rich and colorful vestments carry on with the ancient liturgy, through Romanovs, Bolsheviks, and oligarchs, worshipping the eternal power against the temporal grasps for worldly control. They know, I suspect, what really matters. It is a knowledge that Rome has forgotten or chooses to ignore. Look no further than the Amazonian Synod, the current and latest travesty of the Bergoglio Papacy.

I shifted over to trainspotting, in time to watch a freight pass through Ashland. It looks like mixed freight with plywood, potash, and trash among the commodities hauled. I miss the caboose at the end of a train. It gave a sense of completion to things, like a pitched roof on a building. I hear another train horn. It could be Amtrak #98, running an hour late. It is, passing through now.

J should be up soon. Her sliced fruit is packed in her blue-striped insulated lunch tote. She will shower and leave for work soon. I will be alone. Again. I believe I reverted back to my 20 mg dose of Prozac (fluoxetine) too soon. The pictures of night, darkness, interspersed with street lights, headlights, the interior lights of passenger cars seem to fill my viewing. It is a sterile desolate world. I need to switch back to the TechnicolorĀ© world of Bugs, Elmer, Porky and Daffy. Or simply go back to bed.

Today’s Insomniac Interlude

I have been awake since 2:23 AM. By the Seinfeld measure, I made it through The Mom & Pop Store, the first episode on Season 6 Disc 2, before I fell asleep. Figure a three hour stretch of sleep. I fixed J’s fruit snack, brewed some coffee, and am debating trainspotting. It won’t be another hour til #98 NB Silver Meteor passes through Ashland, if it is on time.

At this point, both beds are uncomfortable. Maybe cartoon watching, feminist burlesque, Russian Orthodox Liturgy or Nazi newsreels on YouTube are my best options to get me sleepy. Going with cartoons again. I know. I am in a rut.

Four Hour Compilation


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Of Looney Tunes, Merrie Melodies, and other miscellaneous cartoonage,

Actually I’ve been through this one before. If four hours of mostly World War Two vintage cartoons seems like overkill, it is. At this point, I have five minutes left. But what’s a sexually deprived 68 year old man to do, if he decides he’s too tired to swim tonight and his wife is boxing up sun tan lotion before Downton Abbey comes on?

Cartoons finished, wife upstairs, I’m now watching Bendita Tentacion, the Mexican trashy lingerie show. I don’t know how long this will hold my attention. Actually I miss the quiet of no TV, but I’ll settle for a gratuitous thrill from these Champions of Body & Sex Positivity from Mexico. You gotta love ’em. Looks like it’s a cancer awareness show tonight, with pink balloons and a couple of doctors on as guests. One of the lingerie models is demonstrating breast self-examinations. I don’t think you would see this show on U.S. broadcast TV.

I’m going up to the quiet in a bit. The no TV moratorium will resume.

I slept a lot today. I talked with C, #2 son, as he decided to go over Jordan Peterson’s list of 102 books to read, book by book. It’s not a bad list at all, titles worthy of being read. It’s just exhausting, but that’s how being with an Asperger’s person can be. He can’t help it. I love him anyway.

This was a frustrating day. My wonderful Asperger’s son called, wore me out, but I would do it again, just to hear his voice. I watched families with beautiful children having pizza at Mellow Mushroom. The loneliness and loss buttons were pushed hard and long today.

Now I need the sleep.

Up In The Nearly Silent Night

It is 1:45AM Eastern Time. The subtle night sounds, insects, electric compressor motors break the silence.

I am awake. When we returned from $6 pizza night, I was tired. I had swum already. I lay down about 8:15 PM and ultimately slept a few times for maybe an hour. Catnapping. I decided around eleven to join J in the big bed, put in a Seinfeld DVD for my “bedtime” story. I last through maybe one episode on the disc before I fall asleep.

I woke up after 2 hours. I am awake, a little warm. I come downstairs, slice J’s fruit for work. I then prepped some salmon that needed cooking. It is cooking at 400Ā°F for 30 minutes. I will have it for breakfast later with eggs, maybe grits (cheese grits?) on the side.

It took some effort on my part, but the TV is off. Reflexively I turned it on. I would then begin my search for something to watch. Usually. But I stopped, I read the posts from Succulent Savage, while I drink seltzer with lime. Routinely I drink decaf coffee, but even that can keep me up sometimes. I am now feeling sleepy. I think I will sleep in the twin bed, away from J. It’s easier, really.

Why do I think I still have to be awake and alert at Six AM, as if I have to be ready to go to whatever suck-y job I had when I worked? 41 years of bad decisions, buttressed by alcoholic drinking for twenty of those years, age 23 to 43. Then I found blue collar labour, and the satisfaction that comes with producing a tangible change in the physical environment, even if it was only a category section reset in a grocery store. My last twenty years working were my most satisfying. Neckties must affect circulation of blood to the brain in those executive-type jobs.

So now, I read, write, work out, practice patience, tolerance and understanding toward people who are as angry about the world as I once was. I also pray for the broken places and people. Silence is good for praying.