I got my early bedtime last evening ─ possibly no later than 9:10 p.m., for my younger brother was not yet home (as I had anticipated would be the case) from whatever bar in Port Kells he had bused to in order to hook up with one or two of his drinking buddies.
I managed to slip into a nap, but a little more than an hour or so after getting to bed I found myself awake again and in need of micturition. So I rose and cautiously opened my bedroom door, discerning that my brother must still not have gotten home, for the T.V. downstairs was not yet on.
After returning to bed, I napped again; and better than an hour after that bathroom break, I was again awake. This time, my brother was indeed home.
It was just into the midnight hour, so I had hopes that he might soon go to his bedroom for the night. But alas, I had to lie and wait until at least 12:45 a.m. before I heard him come upstairs and shut himself into his bedroom.
The way was now clear for me to rise and soon begin putting some work into the post I am developing at one of my six hosted websites. I was to remain up until almost 5:00 a.m.
Had it not taken me so long to perform the website work that I did, I had pondered a walk to the elementary school nigh a half mile from here where I like to go sometimes in the dark to perform four sets of pull-ups on the gymnastics-style rings in its playground.
I sleep so poorly as it is, to have gone then would have badly affected the short time remaining to me in bed ere I would be rising for the morning.
I was unsure if my wife would be showing up overnight, but she never did.
Such is my sorry marriage.
My morning began shortly before 8:30 a.m. ─ possibly more like 8:00 a.m. My brother never showered and then emerged from his bedroom until after 9:30 a.m.
By the way, yesterday I neglected to mention that we finally watched that morning the final episode of the T.V. series The Path. I was relieved to be done with it, for it had gotten to be quite tedious ─ especially since I could not identify with the main characters and I didn't even much care for any of them.
Actually, I didn't have much liking for any of them ─ especially Eddie and Sarah Lane, and Cal Roberts. And they were the three main characters! One cannot feel him- or herself a fan of a series when the series' central characters just do not elicit any fan sympathy. I actually found myself watching just to see if Eddie would really get assassinated as had been foretold.
The series finale was thus rather anticlimactic in that sense. The three central characters were apparently to carry on in their growing Meyerism movement and live happily ever after.
What a drag ─ I just did not even remotely care.
I really hated all the 'vision' bullcrap that kept happening throughout the series. These were hardly Godly people ─ the only visions they could possibly be enjoying would have to be generated through mental illness or else psychedelics ─ or both.
As for latter morning T.V.-watching with my brother today, the only item of note was the second of three John Douillard breathing videos on YouTube that I want my brother to see: Benefits of One-Minute Meditation with Bhastrika Pranayama.
I am hoping that the videos will inspire something more in him than his present devotion to getting drunk every day.
We'll watch the final video early this next week.
Anyway, the day was quite sunny, and nicer than yesterday in that there was no uncomfortably chill breeze blowing through the upstairs windows.
My brother and I watched some T.V. well into the noon hour, and then he returned to his bedroom to rest up for his afternoon outing to go drinking again. I had heard him talking once or twice on his cellphone, so maybe he was again meeting up with someone to drink with ─ if so, then perhaps I will again get to bed early. I would like to.
I sought my own nap just after 1:00 p.m. once I had enjoyed my day's first meal. I roused about an hour later and rose to use the bathroom ─ my brother was already gone. Then because I still felt ill-slept, I decided that I was going to return to bed instead of remaining up.
I managed just over another hour in bed.
Perhaps around 3:30 p.m. as I sat here working on a post in my private blog, I heard my wife finally come into the house. She has not been home since she last left us on Tuesday ─ such is my sorry marriage.
I have resisted until this afternoon having a look at our chequing account, for on March 3 or so she confessed to me that she had relapsed and withdrawn a lot of money from the account to gamble away. She promised to try and replace it as soon as possible, and pleaded with me not to let her two sons know.
Well, I resisted looking at the account until this afternoon before she showed up. She has withdrawn a total of $2,500; and deposited back $1,600. So that's a $900 deficit or loss.
Had she not come home this afternoon, I was planning on texting her and threatening to share this information with her two sons. So with her finally home, I took the occasion to point out just where things stood in terms of the account's balance.
She claimed that she knew she still owed $900, and that she would soon do her best to replace it.
She had to go to work at the Thai restaurant that she is now a part-time employee of, and left here to try and make its 4:30 p.m. afternoon opening ─ there is quite a drive to reach it. But she did some cooking for us before she left.
And she is to come home this evening after work. However, I will not sit up awaiting her if my brother is not home well before 9:00 p.m. ─ I have no intention of keeping a drunkard company.
Incidentally, my eldest stepson came home from work while my wife was still here, and he revealed that a small pot with a very blackened interior bottom was my brother's fault. The lad said that he (my stepson) was out last evening; and upon arriving home, he could hear the smoke alarm sounding within the house.
When he unlocked the door and came inside, his younger brother was already dealing with the cause ─ my drunken brother had put a couple of eggs onto the stove to boil, and then had passed out in his chair in the living room.
Not only had the pot boiled dry and began scorching ─ it was even glowing red hot toward its base; but the bottom parts of the two eggs had utterly charcoaled.
Yet my drunken brother ─ whose head was almost directly below the smoke alarm ─ never once roused. The lads just ran some more water into the scorched pot and left it on a cold burner for my brother to later deal with.
This is the sort of drunkard I want nothing to do with in the evenings.
But enough of that.
I am going to close with three photos that I took of some mini-daffodils that my wife planted into a half-barrel out in a garden plot in our front yard a couple or so years ago ─ I took these photos at 3:54 p.m. / 3:55 p.m. while she was still home:
That dead growth all about and inside the half-barrel is a variety of thyme plant that of course dies off each year. It looks nice enough when it's green and has its tiny purplish flowers that the bees love, but it just looks like a mass of dead weeds over the Winter.
As for the daffodils, I have no idea if they are Narcissus asturiensis or not. They rather do resemble that plant don't they?
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