It’s been awhile. I’ve just been busy, avoiding doing things that afford me satisfaction, like writing the blog, exercising, going to Church. Don’t ask me why. I suspect I have a Puritan’s fear of happiness, as H. L. Mencken pointed out.

I’m going through the annoying experience of a pinched nerve that comes when it chooses and leaves just as capriciously. This evening, before dark, #1Son and his dog, Lila, came by to walk with me. He was quite surprised at the pace I can maintain. I noticed some balance issues, that I can’t quite figure out, but I don’t fall over or down, so we’ll see where this goes.

I want to get back in the pool, and resume getting rid of junk and clutter. I think it better to just get rid of stuff and not not the deep psychological, emotional, and spiritual issues underlying the predicament.

Bedtime soon. I will put laundry in the dryer and go to bed.

I’m lying down on the little bed in the “Daddy Den” as one of my favourite people calls it. It has been hot and the thermostat was acting “uppity”, so I changed the little nickel size 2032 battery again after only ninety days and it seems to be working normally, whatever that means for 2021.

#1 son is doing better. We texted today about not hoarding, since he is an expert on order. I tend to be disorganised and a hoarder.

This brings up what I’ve been doing, which is throwing junk away and giving the local thrift shops plenty of inventory. I seem to recall buying some of the stuff from Goodwill, et al.,, that I’m now donating back to them. Go figure.

I feel like I want to say more, but this is the best I can do right now.

The situation with R, #1 Son, has stabilized. He has found excellent recovery and therapeutic services from a respected rehabilitation provider in the area. All I have to do is tell myself it’s going to be OK. I am not a bad dad if I m not with him all the time.

The attention shifts to home, where J complains of abdominal pain that might be gall stones, but she has yet to secure a doctor’s appointment. She is a “grown ass” woman and can secure her own appointments. I just wait, wonder, and worry.

And then there’s the house. The House. An accumulation of the detritus of unfulfilled dreams characterizes my share of the rubbish. Books need to be given away or sold, along with CDs, DVDs and furniture. The big, bulky phonograph I purchased to play vinyl records takes up space on my desk. My desk top computer, from Apple, no less, languishes from underutilization.

The debris is dusty. It makes for claustrophobia

I bought a device from Amazon for streaming services. I discovered that the programming available is barely worth watching. The sizzle of streaming services is emphasized over the tough steak of the same old junk, enhanced with a surfeit of “f-bombs” and occasional nudity.

Nudity. If it’s nudity I want, nudity is there with a few clicks. As the Preacher of Ecclesiastes tells us, “There is nothing new under the sun.” Pornography is a great failure for me. I want love more than a sexual thrill. Still naked women are beautiful, not the porn star feminized gyno-bots , but real women.

I am becalmed. Unlike the Ancient Mariner, I’m avoiding killing my albatross. I will push through to bring about a new course for my life.

Bedtime. Again

RB, my elder son suffered a traumatic brain injury(TBI) on 3 June 2021. It took almost a month for us to realize the nature and magnitude of this event. “Falling and hitting one’s head” seems trivial as a description of the accident.

He has no short term memory. He does not remember what happened the day before. He takes Gabapentin to relieve the pressure in his skull. It’s a long slow journey back for him. And those of us who love him.

I don’t know how often or how much I will blog for a while.

There is a place in our hearts, that is to say, at the core of our being, that cries out to God. He is listening. He has always been listening. We let our self-created noise interfere.

It is finally August. I look at time as a gift from God. I must be a good steward of that gift. What do I have to show for July? I did clean under the sink and inside the fridge.

I did some serious sleeping, having begun this post around midnight, I am resuming around 11:30 AM.

What persists? My son’s recovery from a Traumatic Brain Injury continues, although not nearly as rapidly as he or anyone else would wish it to happen. Time takes time.

My life with a hoarder continues. My marriage to a hoarder continues. All I can respond to her hoarding is hoarding on my part.

COVID-19 persists. An indirect exposure to a new case has prompted me to isolate. The affected person had been vaccinated, and I’m assuming he has contracted the Delta variant.

The weather is cooler today and rainy. The thought that the worst of the summer heat has gone provides encouragement.

I am wearing my hearing aids and I can hear the birds singing. And some chirping from insects. The sound of water pouring down the drain pipe provides a bass line for the higher pitch of the bird song.

Old problems were mentioned in the title of this post. I think some drastic and dramatic action on my part is necessary to rectify this situation. Maybe that’s why the problems persist. Small actions, consistently applied, may offer the lasting change.

This morning, there is a voicemail from my friend Scott, whom I visited Friday. He leaves a message that his father, who had been vaccinated with the Johnson & Johnson vaccine, had come down with COVID-19, on Saturday.

So I have been vaccinated, with the Pfizer vaccines . What do I do now? Through Scott, I have indirect exposure to a person who has COVID-19. I have been vaccinated. But so had Scott’s father.

Now I am questioning the value of the vaccines and every directive the government has ever made about this disease. Does the government know what it is doing? Are there facts backing the decrees?

Answers, please.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve seen too much. There are too many things I cannot unsee, the tawdry, ostentatious displays of wealth that some people flaunt and others covet. There are the photographic ghosts of Berlin, Verdun, Stalingrad, Hiroshima.

Some images are immediate. There is the image of the EMTs desperately attempting to resuscitate my neighbour, as he is dying from an overdose.

There is the blue tattoo of numbers, a German “7” prominent in the sequence, of a survivor of the Shoah.

It takes only a little while to see too much. And a lifetime goes by attempting to forget.

I am awake at 0245, have been awake for about an hour. I feel weep-y, not sad, necessarily, as if there are tears needing to be shed. Possibly this is nothing more than an allergy.

I went upstairs last night, told J she could pick out a DVD of I Love Lucy episodes. So she picked one from the season where Lucy moved to Connecticut. Not my favourite, but she likes it.

At Nine AM, my son is coming over to thin the day lily beds. His Mom is bringing him over, so I feel like I should have some scones ready for them. Not a big deal really, My son is recovering from a Traumatic Brain Injury, and doesn’t drive, so she’s bringing him over, as if he were 5 rather than 45. I’m giving the lilies we thin out to her, for her garden. The irony is that these lilies came from the gardens of my now deceased ex-wife #2, the woman I married after we divorced.

What goes around comes around. This applies to the good as well as the not-so-good.

This sleep won’t return. I won’t let it. I have to make my self suffer a little longer. I can’t go to sleep beside my wife, much as I want to.

She goes back to work at 1:00 PM, making sure the shelves at Target have products on them for the “guests” to buy. She returns home to me at 6:30 PM.

I’m drinking chamomile/lavender tea, hot. I can taste the lavender this morning. I want and need no more caffeine.

I suck at self care.