Every time I look at your picture, another piece of my heart breaks away.

It wasn’t just ball players and playwrights who loved you, but this eleven year old boy, who saw into your heart.

You deserved better.

Insomnia. My nemesis. I slept about two hours, then woke up to brush and floss. I have been awake since around 0200 (2:00 AM) I did brush, floss and use my fluoride rinse, went back to bed, and, sort of, tried to sleep..

I got dressed, came downstairs, read a story in my Kindle, then started watching for trains on YouTube.

I fantasise about taking a train to New York, moving there, getting a job, or writing a novel while living off food stamps. I hope Holly Golightly is reimagined, still personified by an ageless and immortal Audrey Hepburn, and I fall in love with her in perpetual 1961.

I know. It’s a dream. Movie characters are never real and we can’t jump into the movie frames to experience cinematic reality, as good, or, as bad, as the real thing.

I am getting sleepy. I think I could go to sleep. Maybe sleep til noon or so. J and I could then go to lunch. I could do all the self care things I ought to be doing, like sleeping.

This is premature, but Father’s Day for me, is shaping up to be a reminder of my failed marriages, and that my sons have different mothers It will be a celebration of my being a father, not of having a family.

My current wife doesn’t have to like my sons, but I was hoping she would put up with them for the duration of a meal on Sunday. So it will be my son Chad and I having lunch together. Maybe Robert can be with Chad and me, but I haven’t heard from him.

So I have these two sons who may or may not both be with me on Father’s Day. My wife will not be joining us. It’s almost a Rubik’s Cube of Domestic Arrangement..

I guess it is what it is. I’m a patriarchal fuck-up. And Father’s Day serves as not as a celebration, but as a reminder of my failures.

It is 2:16 AM. I’m drinking hibiscus tea, diluted with seltzer. I should be sleeping like a regular person. Upstairs Seinfeld is on and my wife can let it lull her to sleep That not how this show works for me.

I could make coffee but the coffee maker parts are in the dishwasher

I have lost weight with Weight Watchers before. And regained it. I also am a diabetic and I need to pay attention to my blood sugar levels.

Beating myself up figuratively about my weight loss failures doesn’t help. Just as finding fault with my eccentric sleep schedule doesn’t help.

What I notice is that I’m avoiding exercise. My AA meeting routine is good but rather inconsistent in finding and sticking to regular meetings.

I think about sex a lot. I fear my wife loves me, but is not in love with me. There’s a difference, a big one.

As I prepare this “laundry list” for self improvement, I fear these goals are just stops on another journey of self-defeating behaviour

Right now I know that I went to bed wide awake, expecting to fall asleep, while my shortcomings were dominating my self-talk.

Seinfeld is not my friend. Adopting my wife’s sleep routine will not serve my needs, even if I could fall asleep with the TV on.

I could write about the elephant in the room of our relationship, sex, but I won’t right now.

I will not turn into an old man, even if it seems inevitable.

That’s the best way I can describe my denying that I have a Type 2 Diabetes diagnosis. The sheepishly taking whatever drugs my internist throws my way is not proactive self-care. All I have to do is feel worse and worse until I have a stroke..

I suppose I should read the books on diabetes that I have purchased

I can spend a lot of time ignoring the problem, watching trains or porn videos or reading any book not germane to the issue.

Bad ideas on self-care include sitting in my comfy chair, drinking lots and lots of coffee, not exercising , and letting my sleep schedule match that of my wife’s.

My wife says she cares about my health , but she says “No” consistently and leaves it at that. She means well, but if I’m not responding, this is insufficient.

Ultimately my health is my responsibility.

I’ve been awake a while. But my mind can’t seem to focus on little things . There are a bunch of films (videos) from the Internet Archive that have my attention There are works from experimental film makers from the Silent Era that impress me.

I’ve managed to miss the 7:00AM broadcast of Highway Patrol, the best cop show ever. The budgetary restrictions that came with paying for Broderick Crawford’s services made the series what it was.

Right now, I need more sleep

I cook oat bran cereal on the stove top, since I don’t have a microwave oven. That means i have to clean the sauce pan. I had my oat bran with fresh mango, a shake of cinnamon and maybe a tablespoon of honey. Pretty good.

So President Hot Shot Real Estate Developer wants to turn a unique piece of real estate in a wealthy and sophisticated city back into a maximum security prison.

Huh?

I remember when the Alcatraz debate centered around the ownership rights of a Native American tribe. How did that debate turn out?

How about developing this real estate into a marvelous community with housing for middle class and affluent families? There could be offices and artists’ studios for creative types Maybe a ferry service to whisk residents to the city proper. And non residents could visit the island for its possible cultural offerings .

Having Alcatraz revert to its old function as an urban gulag is down right stupid.

Try again, Mr President.

I woke up around 0400 hours . I was hungry , or thought I was. Then I looked at all of the Rubbermaid containers sitting in the trusty Whirlpool, containing God Knows What. So I started tossing them out.I was thorough. Perhaps the half filled jar of Cheez Wiz was still edible, but out it went too.

I feel a profound sense of relief. They’re all gone!

And now, I’m just not all that hungry any longer.

If I hear the word “Trump” again, with the exception of a bridge game, I’m going to scream!