Yesterday I was eager to get back to the Y for more swimming, to maintain my schedule of AA meetings, and to follow my Weight Watchers points budget. 

Today… I slept. A lot! Did nothing but watch TV, eat, sleep, watch more TV, then eat some more, sleep some more.

A sentence popped into my head, while J and I were at lunch. The sentence is this, “It’s a special time on the farm when it’s time to slaughter the hogs”. I can recall a memory that my father shared about his Uncle Allen , climbing on the back of a pig to slash its throat, on a day when hogs were slaughtered.

The sentence is voiced by a Southerner. Perhaps it is disgust at my wife’s obsession with the television series The Waltons, currently broadcast on a saturation basis by Hallmark.

Now I hate the fuckin’ Waltons. The Waltons is Hollywood garbage, a vision of 80’s yuppies dropped into the Blue Ridge Mountains of depression-era Virginia. It’s disgustingly wholesome.

So this bizarre mash-up, Waltons and hog killing has been percolating in my head. It is exhausting to deal with these thoughts, further buttressed by a line of dialogue from Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch. “This is better than a hog killing!”, uttered by a man taking valuables off corpses.

It took me several hours of headaches and napping to put this all together. Tomorrow I can resume my regular schedule of obsessions, diet, exercise and unrequited Lust.