This memory goes back a long time, or what seems far away, when AIDS was a new and terrifying phenomenon. And my friend Charles, a successful hairstylist in DC’s Georgetown was just diagnosed. It would be the last time I saw him. He was weak and open for good byes.

I greeted him, took his hand, looked into his eyes. There wasn’t much left to say, except to get the love I had for him across, expressed through the silent language of the eyes.

We grasp, it seems, at what is shallow, our likes or dislikes, such as what we think of Trump or how deep imagined conspiracies run.

Charles was dying. I needed to let him know I loved him. I hope I succeeded.

I started with Home Shopping Network. They were selling ladies fashions , but I was hardly paying attention. There was a quick peek at baseball, then You Tube and I watched Gutfeld. That was funny and also confirmed that both political parties are playing their second string. Both parties also have an insane fascination with war, that they are the next generation to save the world from insensate evil.

TV has the task of impressing upon us the need to save the world from ourselves. We have had an eighty four year struggle with war, fighting monsters both awesome and petty.

Each edition of the comic book titled Us vs. The Mega Monster, features an enemy lurking out there, ready to loot our Costcos and ravage our maidens, (Relax. They’re using contraception).

I’m jaded.We’re all jaded.

I married this woman on 4 October 1980. The Feast Day of St Francis Of Assisi. That was a Saturday. Alcohol was a major factor in the failure of our marriage.

In November of 2015, she died. At her memorial service , the presiding minister instructed me not to say anything about EAC, per her request. I should direct a statement about my feelings for her in a letter to her siblings. So I was welcome, but unlike all the other attendees, I was to remain silent. So I left.

I never wrote her siblings, nor have I seen them since that day. There is no reason to write or see them.

Now, after nearly ten years, I can say that I have nothing to say to them. Something in me died, when she died.

I may go visit where her ashes are interred, at Mt Auburn Cemetery if I ever go to Boston again. Then again, maybe not.

As ghosts go, EAC is a failure.

Sad, really.

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.