Although I was to bed last evening by 8:45 p.m., it was only because my younger brother had shown up just a few minutes before (from wherever he had been drinking). I shun his company in the evenings rather than attempt to watch any T.V. with him ─ he has seemingly lost the capacity to retain consciousness throughout the evening due to his excessive consumption of beer.
Fortunately, I had just finished watching the second season finale of Magnum P.I.
I do enjoy that series, but I probably would not be a regular viewer if Perdita Weeks was not a prominent regular as the character Higgins. That young woman seems to me to be in exceptional physical condition, and I quite marvel at her.
She even runs like someone who understands how to effectively do so ─ I honestly thrill to visions of the young lass's prowess.
And her eyes ─ as I have previously written ─ remind me of those of a young woman named Jean Cooper whom I knew at least as far back as 1978 until the earliest 1980s. I was addictively consumed by my attraction to poor Jean.
But that is a story dealt with in my private blog.
I don't much cotton to series remakes, so this version of Thomas Magnum probably would be insufficient to have gotten me to stick with the series ─ I was a huge fan of Tom Selleck's original Thomas Magnum. Frankly, he was irreplaceable.
In a similar vein, Hawaii Five-0 just doesn't interest me. I've tried to watch it during its first season, but the two main characters simply do not work for me in their reincarnations. The original series was too unique and good.
Gosh, I just now read that the original series (Hawaii Five-O) used a letter "O" in its title, whereas the remake used a "0". Didn't know that.
I never liked the original MacGyver, so I haven't had the remotest interest in seeing the remake.
I cite these three specific series because they are all related products that have had crossover episodes.
Anyway, I had quite a rush last evening to vacate the living room and get upstairs ahead of my brother's entrance into the house, but the point is that I succeeded and was to bed earlier than planned.
However, because I knew that I would be rising early into the a.m. to come here and work on a few things, and because I was expecting my wife home at some point, I retired in my jeans. I never do manage to log in all that much sleep when I retire early like that with the intention of rising later, and last night was no different.
It was during the midnight hour when I roused sufficiently to realize the time; and it was just then that my wife entered the bedroom to begin readying for bed, for she was to have to work today at her friend's Thai restaurant. Her shift doesn't start until 11 a.m., but she does not often sleep well; and last afternoon she had enjoyed a very extended nap.
As it was to prove, she did indeed rise a few times overnight while I was up ─ the poor thing. I know she works hard, so I very much do wish that she had an easier time of sleeping in the night.
I think that I was back to bed by maybe 4:30 a.m. ─ I had been up approximately four hours. Yet after taking some while to finally find sleep again, by 8 a.m. I found myself awake enough again to be monitoring the time. I doubt that it was much after 8:30 a.m. when I rose for the morning. My wife rose less than an hour after I had.
I really only have two more topics I care to write about today.
First, I confess to squandering my afternoon in dissolute occupation, denying myself the time to engage the exercising I should have challenged myself with today. I barely managed to pull myself free from the sapping involvement before the usual consequences of crushing regret.
By then, I needed to rest my burnt-out eyes even though it was already after 5 p.m., so I sought a very brief nap. I had to have it ─ my eyes are declining dreadfully as I age. And the hours I spend daily at this computer monitor are punishingly harmful.
The second topic concerns the heavy whipping cream that I go to great pains to keep myself supplied with for my two (usually) daily hot caffeinated beverages.
I do not drive, so I have to walk to make personal purchases such as I must do for my litres of heavy cream.
Well, yesterday the carton I had been using seemed to suddenly be much emptier than it should have been. I normally get just over a week from a carton, and this one was already unexpectedly low.
This morning, the situation was even worse. There was only enough cream for a single use ─ someone is indeed helping themselves to my cream. I know that it is one of my two adult stepsons.
Both of them drive ─ they can easily buy their own cream if they so desire. The carton I was using was 'hard won' ─ that is, it was part of some groceries that I bought this past early Sunday morning when I made a round trip hike of at least 5.625 miles to purchase those items and bear them all the way back home.
And now one of my two stepsons is taking it upon himself to start using my personal cream supply when he can easily drive and keep himself supplied with the relatively expensive commodity. It is no easy matter for me to keep myself in stock with the cream.
I find myself feeling resentful.
I had bought two litres of the cream last Sunday, thinking that I would not have to return to that distant store for two weeks; but now I am already into the backup carton of cream, and it will not hold me over until Sunday of next weekend.
In other words, I will have to make an uplanned hike back to the store this weekend, or risk not having cream by late in the coming week.
I can no longer keep my cream in the fridge, either. Perhaps that is manageable at this time of year ─ I can keep an open carton on the sill of my open bedroom window here upstairs. It is unlikely to spoil in a mere week.
This makes me feel petty, however. But my delicious hot caffeinated beverages are one of my few true enjoyments in my marginal existence, and the cream is indispensable in their preparation.
I must stop ─ it is approaching 8 p.m. I have to have a fast small supper and be set to get to bed when I notice my brother arriving home. My wife will not likely be back home until after the weekend (she tends to stay somewhere in Vancouver on her weekends ─ such is our sorry marriage).
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