I’ve spent the better part of the day waiting to feel better. I know I am OK, just tired and sad, with a slight headache. Just tired. The Christmas pendulum is swinging back towards wishing it were over. I don’t think I ever got that nap that would get me back to even keel. Not even Howard Keel, much less Kathryn Grayson.

Anybody else remember Donkey Serenade? I am especially fond of Alan Jones’ version.

More later.

As our story left off, I was clean with a trimmed beard, refreshed through the friendship found in the rooms of Recovery, and satisfied by the simple joys of Cubano cuisine. I had planned on a swim, but needed to get home for a while.

At home, I read Olivia’s blog, Olivia Submits, with her skilled erotic story Connections with Lucas and Sofia. It got my erotic imagination working again. I have to admit it’s getting better.

I did get a swim in after 7:30 PM, 1750 meters. The swim was faster than Tuesday. I wanted to stop but didn’t. Now I am home, watching Popeye, my mentor in all things related to modern living. I listen to the musical score as much as I watch the visuals, in glorious black & white. Popeye had a Golden Age in the Thirties. The later stuff is not nearly as good, post WW Two. So Popeye is setting me straight.

There is laundry in the washer. I am drinking seltzer with a lime wedge. My feet are warm. Life is much much better

Thanks Blossom. Thanks Jade.

It’s amazing what a little robust self-care can accomplish. I took a hot shower, went to a meeting, then went to my favorite Cuban restaurant, ordered the lunch size ropa vieja, plus a slice of tres leches cake as a surprise for J.

Coming out of this funk,

I am putting this blog on hiatus. Mental Health issues are part of it. Anger, Depression, Outrage. Maybe I will come back. Maybe I won’t.

I have become dependent on this blog for attention. There are things going on that are breaking my heart. Christmas is too much for me.

I need to find the counselor I think I need.

Right now I am watching a Brit with a Midlands accent walk through an abandoned tunnel on an abandoned railway line between Sheffield and Chesterfield. Kinda cool. He is pointing out different shades of rust, for all you rust afficianados.

But I’m going back to bed I think. Tired.

I am alone. J is at work.

The revulsion I feel is about anything around sex.

I hope it is short-lived, but I’m not so sure if it will ever end.

I think I have reached the bottom of the abyss of madness.

Is it over yet? I just don’t care any more.

I just took Twitter off my phone. I lack the maturity to deal with the fools. I merely descend to their level, engaging in pointless discussions So I’m gone.