Faced with the challenge of not thinking about sex, I resigned in despair. It’s not so much the act, but, who am I kidding, it is. A woman will open her legs for me, and welcome me home.

These thoughts are in the past, memories. Every pledge of love, without this union, rings hollow, in the emptiness of the day.

Like every lover, now estranged, I try to dream anew.

We shall see what lies ahead.

The British and the Irish call this Boxing Day, people go around with boxes asking for money to be put in the box. This is when the English have their madcap “pantos”. Watch some Monty Python. You’ll get the idea.

Meanwhile, it’s high Summer in Australia and the cricketers are on the ovals. There is a test match with India this year. We Americans are busy going to sales and returning ill-advised or ill-fitting gifts.

I have no respite from insomnia. I awaken around Four AM to watch The Silver Meteor headed for New York. I’m drinking coffee from my Waffle House mug, a surreptitious gift from Earl, a good soul who slipped one to me from their vast inventory.

I’m reading a biography of Natalie Barney, imagining life in fin de Sieclé Paris. I’m actually tired. But the romance attributed to Paris keeps me reading.

I suppose Resolutions for the New Year are in order. But I will have one last fling with procrastination before 2025 slips in.

I spent the entire day waiting for my wife to wake up. I didn’t eat, thinking we would go have a meal.

Finally I went upstairs to get my wallet and she decided to take her shower.

I had a section of Laughing Cow cheese and a small can of Coke. That helps in the short term.

I’m hurt.

Here it is , Tuesday morning . NFL football has a hiatus until Thursday evening the Thursday game marks a new week, grinding ever closer to the regular season end. Manufactured drama for our starved souls helps fill the Great Emptiness.

My great fear is that the human race will decimate itself out of sheer boredom. We will have a catastrophic struggle, leaving enough people surviving to watch the movie version of the disaster.

In the coming year, we in America must learn to play well with others again. It’s a challenge. We kinda sorta want a civil war, just for the drama.

People are buying large quantities of Bibles today. With any luck we will read them. And pay attention.

Autumn means football on Sunday, roughly from noon to midnight. It all gets tedious with the celebratory noise from pregame(foreplay) to the orgasm of touchdowns to the final cheers and fireworks of the final whistle. Football is not yet an obligatory affirmation of American culture, but it gets closer with every season.

Portugal is famous for its three “F”s: Fatima, Fado and Futbol, (soccer).The three F’s unify the Portuguese culture as cuisine, Evangelical Protestantism, for both white and African American communities, and good ole football unite us down Soutb. We’re all fans, no question about that.

Lots of chickens have died and been fried proclaiming the Good News of Jesus at plenty of church suppers.And we like it that way.

We get comfortable around food, faith and football. We have differences, sometimes acrimonious, to be sure, but our three F’s call us home.