Using the Albuterol Inhaler helps but it is taking a while. But I am feeling better. We joke about how we dread the “Spring forward” time change. So I am up and the clock says 5:30, but my body and mind say 4:30.

I’m watching people on YouTube nose around abandoned property. Creepy. I don’t have the chutzpah to do that.

We shall see how today unfolds. Still don’t feel up to going to Mass. I might just watch TV Mass and leave it at that.

It is 2:09 AM Eastern Time North America. I have been up about two hours. I wasn’t feeling all that well. I was also due for a dose of Albuterol through the inhaler.

I am tired. I feel lonely. Later today we are supposed to drive to Fredericksburg, 50 miles North to have dinner with J’s brother and his wife. Right now I don’t feel up for it. My brother-in-law and his wife are really nice people. But I just want to rest.

Questions around sex plague me. I will press on.

I am sleepy again. Back to bed for me.

Later Loves ❤

The doctor visit resulted in the Albuterol inhaler being prescribed. The next step is using the inhaler, which I have. I am feeling better. Breathing is getting easier.

Whenever I post, I am so grateful for my readers. You guys are a safe space for me. I feel accepted for being the mass of contradictions that I am. That leads me to think that if I am a mass of contradictions, maybe all of us are.

I called the doctor’s office this morning. He had an appointment opening at 10:00 AM, so I scheduled it.

They took me back, got my weight, (185.5 lbs,) my vitals (BP 140/70). Dr S comes in. I tell him I am fatigued by the end of the day. I have very little energy. He listens to my breathing, then says, “You’re wheezing.That means your airways are constricted.” He phones in a prescription for Albuterol, to be inhaled four times a day. I pick it up at the pharmacy, come home, use it. I then go back to sleep.

I’m on the way to feeling better.

Moral of the story. Men, when your wife tells you to go to the doctor, go to the doctor. (You may modify this advice to fit the parameters of your particular relationship.)

My wife wants me to get this bronchitis checked out. My ex-wife, with whom I was texting last night said it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I’m more concerned with the mild fatigue I experience by the time evening comes.

So I guess I will go see the Doc.

I just opened an e-mail from my alma mater, The University of Virginia, telling me about the crackerjack professors they just hired. And there in the newsletter is a grammatical error that should have been caught before some bozo hit the send button. Maybe they left it in there so we’ll think they really can’t do without us (and our money).

A large nonfunctioning microwave oven took up precious counter space in our galley kitchen, the kind of kitchen where open work surfaces and functionality reign. So after four months of sitting there, haunting me in its techno-morbid state, J and I took it to Best Buy, from whence it will go to the old electronic devices graveyard. It’s a relief and more space will be freed up by its removal. When I relocate an antique glass flour canister, I will fill it with bread flour from an old coffee can, repurposed to hold said flour. This opens space in a cabinet. Our kitchen is really just a big three dimensional puzzle.

I am retired. I can go to bed anytime I want to. I can wake up anytime I want to. I can have a chili dog and a bag of chips (crisps, to you Brits) for breakfast. You get the picture.

But today, I woke up after what proved to be an inadequate amount if sleep 6 hours, had coffee, a chocolate biscotti, and a cup of porridge made with McCann’s steel cut oats, with a bit of cinnamon, heavy cream and sugar. As I sit, allowing my brain to get the message from my stomach that it is full and satisfied, I contemplate going back to bed. I’m tired again. I want a wake-up do-over. I want to sleep a little more, awaken again, and revel in the knowledge I can go back to sleep again should I so choose.

Maybe I will seek the Democratic nomination for President after all. Everybody else is.

I think human beings have an unlimited capacity for loving other people. That doesn’t mean they should have sex with someone, or any one, just to express their love for them. Seems kind of obvious, but then again, it isn’t for an awful lot of folks. And I have the divorces to prove it.

I can’t remember what it was that would upset me 20 years ago. I guess we should all accelerate the letting go process, even though I know for many people this is difficult, if not impossible. That’s OK, too.

Going back to bed.

Later, loves. 💘