While my younger brother was still away and engaged in his daily socializing early yesterday evening, I watched a Christmas movie that I had only gotten just over 11 minutes into the evening prior to that. The movie was 2015's Merry Matrimony.
I had not been able to enjoy anything at all about the 11 minutes I had watched two evenings ago, but last evening I quite got into it, and drank at least five ounces of golden rum during it.
Despite lead actress Jessica Lowndes having quite a list of acting credits, I was unfamiliar with her name, and neither could I say that she was visually familiar to me.
Her handsome love interest ─ played by actor Christopher Russell ─ was a character I had no trouble liking. And the actor was a fairly imposing figure, seemingly well-built. In looks, he somewhat reminded me of a much younger Kevin Sorbo of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys fame.
I found myself rather attracted to supporting actress Farrah Aviva, incidentally.
Anyway, yes, the movie was enjoyable enough that I had my emotions tweaked enough to evoke tears. What happens in such movies is that I juxtapose my own past experiences with some elements of the story plot. As well, I become deeply sorrowful that my life can never have the sort of romantic idealism displayed by the central characters, for my own marriage is a lost cause, and I am too old now to ever know the intense love that I have longed for ever since I was a teen.
Later in the evening I was to drink two cans of the strong (8% alcohol) malt that I try to keep in stock, so I was nicely under the influence by the time my brother and I called an end to T.V. for the night.
I never did hear my wife come home ─ or at least, I do not recall hearing her. She and I have separate bedrooms. Even so, it was probably long after 1 a.m. when I got to bed, so she had to have been partying again ─ and maybe gambling at the casino near where she works.
This morning I never watched any T.V. with my brother. He first immersed himself into some 2022 FIFA World Cup competition, and then it sounded like he was watching football ─ the CFL is done for the year, so it had to be NFL competition.
This was disappointing for me, but at least it gave me the chance to first work on the post that I have slowly progressing at one of my two hosted websites; and then I mostly finished a post in my private blog, the central feature of which was the reproduction of a journal entry that I wrote exactly 41 years ago that was over a page in length ─ and that page had no paragraph breaks! Thus, it took awhile to type it out into the blog post where I did make the missing breaks.
I wanted to try and nap before my wife rose for the day, so I returned to bed near noon, I believe. But although I was able to nap, I found myself beset during it with a vague headache. I have no doubt that my alcohol consumption last evening on top of the computer screen strain of this morning were the cause.
My brother never sought some bed rest until around 1:30 p.m., but he was not in his bedroom for too very long before he left for the day to once again engage his daily socializing.
My wife had to work in the afternoon ─ the Thai restaurant opens at either 4 or 4:30 p.m. after closing for 1 - 1½ hours, so she had to get away on the fairly long drive shortly after 3 p.m. It was raining, although not heavily. However, it has gotten remarkably chilly today. If this keeps up, snow cannot be far off.
She did some cooking for us before she left. And it seems that she is still determined to leave us sometime around mid-January to fly off to Italy ─ Rome, I expect ─ to visit a sister of hers who lives there. After a month or more there, she then wants to fly to Thailand to visit her mother and other family and friends at her home village.
In all, she plans to be away for around two months.
I full well understand that our marriage has crashed, but I am already missing her. I am feeling maudlin. She will not likely be home following her shift this evening until Monday or evening early a.m. Tuesday, for she spends her free time elsewhere.
With the darkness that now arrives before the afternoon is done, it has become gusty out ─ stormy, almost.
It matches my mood. In fact, despite the vague headache that I still have that may or may not be largely attributable to last evening's drinking, I feel inclined to tune in another Christmas movie with which to imbibe in more rum and achieve a truly emotional state.
It bloody sucks to grow old.
Before I close this post, I want to mention that towards 10 a.m., I resorted to the backyard tool shed to tackle six sets of pull-ups and chin-ups to see if I could open with a set of four repetitions ─ and I did. This is the third consecutive such opening set, so it doth seem that my opening sets of just three repetitions may be over with. The other sets remain at two repetitions apiece.
When I weighed myself thereafter dressed exactly as I had been while performing the pull-ups, I was approximately 196 pounds. Since I am not quite five feet and 11 inches (177.8 centimetres) in height, and I am 73 years old, I suppose that this is a commendable enough showing.
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