If you told me food was the way to forget, I would never stop eating.

Not that the memories are all bad. It seems as if I was never safe, even though I was.

What must I do to be loved, Mamma?

So I took my disconsolate and melancholic self to an AA meeting and shared how I felt; 1) that my attitude sucked, 2) that I didn’t care whether I lived or died, and 3) sobriety isn’t about the elimination of difficulties.

It resonated. People shared about the tough parts of their lives in sobriety, like the deaths of their children. At the end, one of my friends gave me a cross he had crafted from an exotic wood, spalted hackberry. I was more than a little touched.

I’ve been over indulging on the guava bars, so they went to the meeting with me and were consumed by my fellow pastry fiends at the meeting,

J and I went to lunch at Cracker Barrel. Today is the sixth anniversary of her Dad’s passing. I felt good just remembering such a virtuous man. He liked Cracker Barrel and I can hear him ordering iced tea as I write this, (emphasis on the“iced” part.)

I’m just plain tired. I realize. J is beating herself up for her shortcomings as a wife. I told her to cut it out. “Wife” is not a job, in my opinion.

So I need to rest. Minimize the stimuli and rest. Then re-start the other parts of self-care. I felt profound empathy for every one who has ever felt marginalized today.

“Come unto me all ye who travail and are heavy laden and I will refresh you.” St. Matthew 11:28-30.

When Jesus said that, he didn’t put qualifiers on when he would start refreshing. He just said come, with your burdens. That was an epiphany for me in this season of The Epiphany.

Well, I started my Christmas story last night. I have my characters, my plot, my various embellishments to the story, a theme. Simple enough. Now all I have to do is write it. This is where it gets hard, as I try not to overthink, overembellish, and fill the story with unnecessary details.

Publix has this confection called Guave Bars, a very sweet cake with a guava paste filling. Caution: This product is highly addictive.

How addictive? Better than sex addictive.

How addictive? If you are diabetic, you would risk amputation for one of these. (Not quite, but almost.)

How addictive? Find out for yourself.

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Every time I see “The Truth About…” in the subject line of an email, I know it is some sort of con job.

We went to Mass Saturday Evening. There were cute children in front of us. I was happy watching the children. I think there was a homily.

So I got to sleep late today. And I did.

I finished a pot of soup. Turned out well. I will share with Dorothy.

And I’m just plain sad. Maybe I will go to bed early.

Sex. Thinking about sex. Expressed my need to J. She acted guilty that she is sexually unavailable.

So anyway. It was a Sunday. A pretty day here.

The pain of it all.

I am lying in bed, coping w low back pain. The Metropolitan Opera broadcast today is Der Rosenkavalier by Richard Strauss, one of my favorites. I’m listening, not caring a whit that my German isn’t good enough to follow the libretto.

Nothing profound folks. Just letting Strauss carry my imagination away.

I’m not entering any more passwords

I’m plugging in my rotary dial telephone.

I will no longer shop on Sunday.

I will shine my shoes every day.

That’s it for now,