With my wife around so much yesterday, I had no time for the construction of a post here that day.
When she is withdrawn from me as she presently is, I would just prefer she not come home. She prevents me from having the chance to maintain my exercise scheduling, nor do I have time to work on much here at my computer.
I can't even nap to gain some vital rejuvenation that would allow me to do any of these things if by chance she does go off somewhere.
Instead, I waste time mainly being nothing more than a presence in the living room just to offer some proximity or availability to her should she wish or need to approach me about anything.
And all I receive in return for these sacrifices of my time is surliness. This in turn makes me dig in my own heels and maintain and even fortify the unproductive wall of silence.
And God cares nothing. My pleas and sometimes rages at His colossal unconcern earns me naught but further desolation of my spirit as I witness my life inexorably eke away. All I can fathom is that this is precisely what He wants for my end of days.
Had I posted yesterday, I intended to talk a little about the 2020 season finale of America's Got Talent that my brother and I watched late that morning via our Android TV Box.
My brother and I were both flabbergasted at the outcome, for we would have turfed "spoken word poet" Brandon Leake following his first appearance. We have no taste for musical rap, let alone a cappella rap.
We faithfully watched all season just for this? Surely there is a fix afoot that he could go on to win?
Last season was nearly as bad.
I will now no longer watch the series ─ as much as I will regret not getting to see sexy Heidi Klum. There is so much else to watch than that extended cruise into disappointment.
Back in the 1950s and early 1960s, Beatnik poetry ─ which was definitely "spoken word" ─ was vaguely interesting to me. I really loved a short sample I once saw in an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies that went something like this:
Blue cheesecake, silver spoon in the sand,
The seaweed barks at me.
I actually liked that!
Anyway, I don't give a hoot about Brandon's story, and that's all he 'raps' about. Don't people have their own lives? ─ what makes his so popular that their own don't matter in comparison, and he thus warrants this unfathomable million-dollar esteem?
In my 71 years, I've lost enough people that I find it very difficult to want to continue on with life. At times I feel that excruciatingly lonely.
His losses do not eclipse nor trump mine ─ and as a consequence, I see nothing to celebrate in the very young man just because he can 'rap' about his few losses thus far. I am not even remotely impressed.
I certainly would never attend a Las Vegas show headlining the guy. I don't even know anyone who would. Would you want to go?
On to other matters now.
My wife had to work late this afternoon, so she probably left here around 3:30 p.m. on the rather long drive to get to the Thai restaurant that employs her part-time. I heard her saying something in Thai to her two adult sons upon her departure, but I did not merit a mention of goodbye.
No matter. I was just relieved by then that she had left ─ I needed a nap, or I would not be accomplishing anything with the remainder of my day.
However, my evening is already deep upon me, and I have some exercise I want to clear away before I have a small supper and free myself up to get to bed once my brother returns from wherever he is presently drinking.
Before I take leave, I want to say a few words about a 2016 or 2017 movie we watched late this morning titled Personal Shopper. The "few words" can be condensed into just four: Don't waste your time.
I wonder how much money was thrown away in the full production of this piece of nonsense?
What in blazes was that ending supposed to imply? ─ that every supernatural manifestation throughout the film that we saw happening around the central female character never actually occurred? She was only imagining it?
What's wrong with people? Why would someone waste their time producing something as stupid as this?
Enough. I must get at that exercising, for it is already well past 7 p.m.
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