Corruption kept me from getting to bed early last evening.
I had turned off the T.V. and was here to my computer around 9:00 p.m. My younger brother had not come home, so I concluded that he was likely going to be spending the night at the residence of his girlfriend Bev.
And then the madness took full control.
Perhaps fortunately, just a couple or so minutes after 11:30 p.m., I heard my brother finally home; and that spurred me to make a hasty retreat to the bed I should have long since been in and asleep.
Woe unto me for that earlier lapse of conduct choice.
I was to get to sleep, but possibly as few as two hours later I was again awake. And so I opted to rise and begin work on the day's content assignment for the new post I have under construction at one of my six hosted websites.
Nevertheless, I was in poor condition from inadequate sleep and proper body rest. It had been my hope to get away in the morning and hike off to do some grocery shopping perhaps 1½ miles from here, but that would not be occurring without further sleep.
Also, I had some unexpected stiffness and aches ─ enough so that I had no heart to consider attempting the plank that has of late been customary for me to undertake. How could I? My current planking target is a full 10 minutes, and such a duration was inconceivable in my present physical and mental state.
Incidentally, my youngest stepson was still up.
In fact, I was too depleted to do more than half of the day's content assignment at the website, for by then it was around 4:00 a.m.
But did I return to bed?
Nay.
Instead, I continued with the ill behaviour of the evening before, and remained steadfast in that wickedness until the point of no return.
By then, it was already after 6:00 a.m., and I could only make my return to bed awash in deflation and regret.
I am reminded of a Biblical verse that I had long ago forgotten, but which I had brought back into memory when my brother and I were watching Friday morning the first season finale of a fairly old Western series titled Deadwood.
A well-meaning young priest had been growing progressively incapacitated due to a suspected brain lesion that was fast taking away his bodily control and addling his wits.
He tended to speak nearly constantly in Scripture, as if he was giving an endless sermon.
As it happened in this episode, he soliloquized much of Romans chapter 7 ─ it was verse 19 that especially hit home in a rekindling of my memory:
For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.
There really should be a comma added in that first portion of the verse, as here:
For the good that I would, I do not....
It makes it far clearer that the verse is saying that even though the speaker is desirous of doing good, he just does not do it. And contradictorily, he finds himself engaging in the evil acts that he would rather not commit, but is too helpless to turn from them.
If you have never seen the Western series, a rather wicked saloon / brothel owner ─ entirely out of a sense of mercy, for he recognized that the preacher was a decent man ─ smothered the unfortunate soul unto death.
By then, the preacher seemed unable to walk on his own, for his limbs were spastically no longer under his own control. And his wits were mostly detached from the grasp of the reality surrounding him. Perhaps he was aware that he was being smothered, but his feebly struggling response may have mostly been the automatic struggles of a living organism not willing to die.
The sentiment of that Biblical verse encapsulates so starkly how I find myself.
On a different note, whilst I was at work on that website post today, compiling various references into the post relating to the topic with which it is concerned, one reference was to an fairly old Blogger (Blogspot) post that was published on Decmber 19, 2006.
The blogger was an older chap named Hugh Watkins who was resident in the U.K.
Hugh had quite a few different blogs ─ he called this specific one photographs and walks, and the post I had stumbled upon was titled shopping on the nineteenth.
I gathered from what Hugh said in that post that he was an unwell man. I also found myself liking him.
And so I made the choice to perhaps learn more about him once I was finished my work for the day ─ maybe I would even get in touch with him.
Well, I was to find out that I was far too late in discovering Hugh. The following is from https://funeral-notices.co.uk (Lasting Tribute page for Hugh WATKINS):
WATKINS Hugh Bartley Passed away on December 29th 2009, aged 73 years. Beloved Father/Far and Grandfather/Morfar. Funeral services to be held at Woodlands crematorium on Thursday 14th January 2010. at 11.00am. Flowers or donations to either Help the Aged or R.N.L.I. c/o the family.
He was at most a mere four years older than I am now. I will be 70 this coming October.
I don't feel like blogging any further today. Besides, it is already 6:40 p.m. this wasted day.
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