I cancelled the dental appointment, lack of sleep. They understand. I wrote the check to ex-wife #2’s church for the gardens and mailed it. The recycling was put out and picked up. I tried sleep with little success.

And now. I can feel my heart in my chest, the way it has always felt when I am sleep deprived. I wish I could make positive posts, write some erotica, pass for happy. Not yet.

I just looked at headlines in my Google newsfeed of stories I simply do not care about, nor will I ever care about. They are Google’s way of affirming my irrelevance as an old white man. I am an anachronism.

I see a pattern here.
You’ve been warned.

This is very sobering.
Fred Flintstone is a completely fictional character. So were Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles and Bam-Bam.
Most likely he did not get around in that car he got moving by running.
He did not have that dinosaur Dino for a pet.
If they lied to us about Fred, what else did they lie to us about?

The need to urinate morphs into lying in bed, hoping for sleep to return. No luck. I dress, go downstairs, fix a cup of herb tea. I feel drowsy.

My dis-ease of late is prompted by thoughts of my late ex-wife. We had been divorced for over twenty years when she died. There is no good reason why I should feel this way, why I still mourn this person. I guess I could prove to her that I am a worthwhile human being, were she still alive.

No matter. I will make a donation to the Unity Church she attended in her memory, toward garden maintenance. The gardens were her special love. See if that helps.

At dinner tonight, J told me about a Joan Crawford movie from 1969 that she wanted to see, that we could watch together.

I told her that Joan Crawford movies, particular her later horror, schlock movies give me the creeps. I’m peculiar that way. So I said “NO”,

Big Victory.

In September 2010, shortly after coming into The Church, J and I did Marriage Encounter. We wrote in our notebooks, did the exercises, wrote the “love letters”. I was going through a drawer and found all that stuff that I had saved. I had planned to throw it out. Then I read what J wrote to me. And I could not toss them, at least not just yet. But it is painful to consider that lack of communication in our marriage. One cannot talk when one is asleep.

I’m watching Popeyes Cartoons from 1934-35 again. The propriety police have advised me about racist and sexist stereotypes that are depicted these cartoons.

Maybe so, but when Popeye eats his spinach the music gets real upbeat and justice triumphs. So I feel better. Popeye will knock the stuffing out of Bluto and the world is set a right once more. And the music….

The music is wonderful. Beautiful arrangements, performed by violinists, saxophonists, flautists, and other real musicians. No cheesy synthesizers.

And it is wonderful pretend.

Put off laundry for too damn long

Have extra large load of denim in the washer.

Change to Standard Time means it will be 2:00 AM twice.

Why can’t we do this every night?