Here I am awake. Do the ghosts keep me sleep-deprived? Or the arthritis? Doesn’t matter really.

I tried going to sleep. Really I did. J and I set out to watch a movie together. Hitchcock. Patricia Highsmith. Robert Walker. Strangers On A Train. I should be able to stay awake. Wrong. I fell asleep. A nap is sleep’s version of a Taco Bell burrito. Like that burrito, the nap isn’t what I want, or what I need, or what will satisfy. So I missed the movie, and am faced with anxiety about tomorrow and how I shall fill my time.

So now I am a little sleepier. But I am dressed. Maybe sleeping in my clothes is the best I can do.

The Property Brothers. Those affable Canadian twins are hired to rehab and remodel a home owned by a serial killer, think Land Order SVU, who has mummified bodies in his basement.

Imagined dialogue

“I can tell you right now that those mummies are going to depress the value of this home.

I needed the new phone. What’s next, you ask?

Hearing. Aid.

Yes. You read it here first. Finally. I’m going to get my hearing checked. I’m apprehensive. It is an admission of my vulnerabilities, that I am an Old Man.

OK. People younger than I use hearing aids. The drama will end early. Some of you may even use them.

I can still enjoy the early morning silence.

Throwing out and tidying going well. Rather than start upstairs I worked on the kitchen. Then we got the new phone. Now I am tired and slightly odd-feeling, as if I need to sleep. I know that many people sleep and it’s a good thing. So I’m taking the kindle with the dyke porn on it and going up to rest

Later.

I had a feeling the old phone was about to go bad, so I went and got another one.

I was going to complain. Now I see that this particular intrusion on the routine of life isn’t rantworthy.

I will just change a few passwords if I have to, when I have to.

We are doing follow up on the water main break. Mostly that means I use up the water we brought in when the water was out. The County said ours was more complicated than usual

Back to Living

D

This is it, as good as it will ever be. Time to stop waiting for when circumstances will improve.

When I finish this post, I will go to my room with the captain’s bed and its ancient mattress and begin throwing away. I will think dirty thoughts while I do it, eating J’s cunt, wondering how far my tongue can get up J’s ass.

The only way she will know I can’t go on with the status quo is to tell her, not in words but with action.

How is it possible that I should be so sick of baseball?

How is it that Hollywood lost its magic in my lifetime, I miss glamour, the evening gowns by Edith Head, the dancing, Marilyn.

How is it that we, as a society, grew to hate manual labour? I was never happy working until I found blue collar work.

This is morphing into a rant. I do need some sleep, more than a little.

If only I could be held, then maybe I could cry. Is that the conundrum of our time, that we all do not admit to?