The big news for me is I got five trips to the pool this week and swam 5 miles.

This morning J and I were at Bob Evans for breakfast, totally an uncool place for breakfast, but I love it. People who do actual work for a living eat there.

J says, “After the Holidays, I need to start watching what I eat more carefully.”

“You mean fewer Tate’s Bake Shop Butter Crunch Cookies?” I inquire.

“Yes, for starters.”

“How about every time we have sex, you can have a cookie?” (Let’s see if humour makes any difference.)

(Imaginary smart-was answer on her part) “You mean with each other?”

The day was good. A nap. A swim. The 5:00PM cringe worthy Mass with guitars ( Do you have a light? I need to burn my draft card.) J and I took separate cars so we didn’t have to discuss the doctrinally deficient song Mary, Did You Know?, performed by the theologically challenged musicians, plucking away in their time warp.

But we are home. The rice is cooking. Dinner will be ready soon.

I felt tired today, as if yesterday’s tiredness was held over. I went to AA at 11:00 AM, came home for a nap. J returned from work around 2:30. We went out to eat, Hogshead Cafe´, had bbq nachos, their Hog Nachos. Throughout the day, I keeping worrying about the tiredness that I feel. Is it some dread disease? Then I go swimming, have a good workout and the fatigue is absent after I finish. Go figure.

Maybe I am overdoing it on how much coffee I drink. Seeing if I can get through the night without coffee, regular or decaf, after 6:00 PM.

My greatest fear is that my wife, my family and my friends will stop loving me, especially my wife. So I tell jokes a lot so she will want to keep me around. (Note: When I am serious, I am heart attack serious, apocalypse serious.) Middle Ground? You mean there is such a thing?

Right now, I am watching Brazilians at the beach. The Brazilians seem to be happy. I will watch more Brazilians on You Tube, less newsreels from World War Two. See how I feel after about a month, with no war, no Nazis, more partially clothed Brazilian women.

Later This Evening

I went upstairs to watch a DVD with J. She found Season Two of The Andy Griffith Show. Normally, I would listen, not really watch, because of the position of the television in the bedroom. Tonight, the stories just made me sad. I don’t know why.

Right now, after dressing and coming downstairs, I am watching a YouTube video from Cruising The Cut, about the Manchester Ship Canal. More interesting footage of Manchester was enjoyed.

My objective is to get sleepy, think about positive things. Here is a video of a beach in Spain, the Spanish Mediterranean. This should work. Maybe I will try “doing” the beach next summer. I haven’t been to any beach for years.

But the idea is to drive away melancholia tonight. A video of tourism in Albania looks interesting. It is in a foreign language, Swedish. How can I pass this up?

I’ve spent the better part of the day waiting to feel better. I know I am OK, just tired and sad, with a slight headache. Just tired. The Christmas pendulum is swinging back towards wishing it were over. I don’t think I ever got that nap that would get me back to even keel. Not even Howard Keel, much less Kathryn Grayson.

Anybody else remember Donkey Serenade? I am especially fond of Alan Jones’ version.

More later.

As our story left off, I was clean with a trimmed beard, refreshed through the friendship found in the rooms of Recovery, and satisfied by the simple joys of Cubano cuisine. I had planned on a swim, but needed to get home for a while.

At home, I read Olivia’s blog, Olivia Submits, with her skilled erotic story Connections with Lucas and Sofia. It got my erotic imagination working again. I have to admit it’s getting better.

I did get a swim in after 7:30 PM, 1750 meters. The swim was faster than Tuesday. I wanted to stop but didn’t. Now I am home, watching Popeye, my mentor in all things related to modern living. I listen to the musical score as much as I watch the visuals, in glorious black & white. Popeye had a Golden Age in the Thirties. The later stuff is not nearly as good, post WW Two. So Popeye is setting me straight.

There is laundry in the washer. I am drinking seltzer with a lime wedge. My feet are warm. Life is much much better

Thanks Blossom. Thanks Jade.

It’s amazing what a little robust self-care can accomplish. I took a hot shower, went to a meeting, then went to my favorite Cuban restaurant, ordered the lunch size ropa vieja, plus a slice of tres leches cake as a surprise for J.

Coming out of this funk,

I am putting this blog on hiatus. Mental Health issues are part of it. Anger, Depression, Outrage. Maybe I will come back. Maybe I won’t.

I have become dependent on this blog for attention. There are things going on that are breaking my heart. Christmas is too much for me.

I need to find the counselor I think I need.

Right now I am watching a Brit with a Midlands accent walk through an abandoned tunnel on an abandoned railway line between Sheffield and Chesterfield. Kinda cool. He is pointing out different shades of rust, for all you rust afficianados.

But I’m going back to bed I think. Tired.

I am alone. J is at work.

The revulsion I feel is about anything around sex.

I hope it is short-lived, but I’m not so sure if it will ever end.

I think I have reached the bottom of the abyss of madness.

Is it over yet? I just don’t care any more.