As I awaited my younger brother's homecoming last evening, apart from a couple or so women's MMA matches on YouTube that I watched on T.V. via our Android TV Box, I also watched an episode of the single-season 21 Thunder ─ episode three "Freefalling".
I suppose that it was around 9:40 p.m. that my brother finally showed up from his daily socializing, and he was quite drunk.
I led things off with an episode of Castle Rock ─ it was season one's episode nine ("Henry Deaver").
My brother often passes out during this series; but even I have difficulty fathoming what is taking place. For example, in this episode I had no idea that Molly (played by Melanie Lynskey, best known as "Rose" on Two and a Half Men) was actually 'seeing' into one or more other realities or dimensions ─ I just assumed that she was exceptionally psychic.
So when in this episode, the daemonic-seeming character referred to as "the Kid" is suddenly some normal guy who has the identity of Henry Deaver ─ a character who previously has been a Black man ─ I was unsure just what the heck was going on.
Meantime, my brother simply passed in and out of the episode, and sometimes got up and was gone for a few minutes. So when he once again began bitching at me that the series was stupid and he had no idea what was supposed to be happening, there was no value in attempting to engage him. For him, it would be like reading a novel, but periodically jumping ahead a cluster of pages. Of course the fool ─ whose brain is damaged from alcohol ─ could not possibly grasp anything about the series. He has even snored through almost all of at least a couple of the episodes, and not just passed in an out of them as he more often does.
He was not even present when this episode ended ─ he made one of his disappearances, losing even further continuity. It is useless to try and update him ─ he cannot comprehend.
I next tuned in a movie I was curious about, not realizing that its opening scenes were primarily in German with English subtitling,
Immediately, the bitching! For some reason his vision is worse than mine ─ he cannot read subtitles unless he gets up from his chair and plants himself right before the T.V. Ditto for any kind of print on the screen such as newspaper headlines, or explanatory forewards and afterwards of movies and some T.V. shows.
I realized that he had no intention of lifting his drunken lardy bottom from his chair to read the subtitles ─ he only cared to sit there in his helplessness, decrying how awful it was to have to be inflicted with such dreadful entertainment that was beyond him to enjoy.
And for emphasis, he got up and went off into the kitchen just to show how disgruntled he was by my movie choice.
I was growing angry, but I held my tongue. Had he been sober, I expect that he would probably have found some reasonable enjoyment or at least interest in the movie. However, this dense sot who often comes home in the evenings is not my brother ─ it is some alternate personality which inhabits my brother that I wish was no part of my life.
So I tuned out of the movie and put on an episode of Riverdale ─ this time, it was season four's episode six ("Chapter Sixty-Three: Hereditary").
My brother watched most of it, but he did leave the room a couple of times, and I think that he even briefly passed out as often. As well, he kept finding it needful to spend a few minutes of needless drunken commentary from time to time, reducing my own focus on the show. I sometimes had to cup my ears to capture as much of the T.V. as I could.
I finished the night with an episode of The Avengers ─ it was season or series two's episode four ("Bullseye"). After the usual interruptions by my brother, he passed out midway through the episode and remained so.
When it was done, I turned off the Android TV Box and the T.V. and left him snoring in his chair. I then came upstairs here to my bedroom where I keep my computer, and I shut myself in so that I would not have to have further communication with my brother when he revived and came upstairs to properly go to bed.
It is no longer possible to enjoy evening T.V. with him ─ I recognize that now. Hence, if he is not home by 8:30 p.m., I shall wash my hands of him. It will drastically cut down on the T.V. shows that we will ever be watching in common, but I am no longer going to babysit the inebriate who shows up most evenings and spoils them for me.
This in addition will allow me to get to bed early and have my five-mile walks practically every night of the week. Sunday mornings can be devoted to any grocery shopping hikes, such as the one scheduled for tomorrow. I will be getting up no later than 4 a.m. for that, affording myself ample time to ease into the reality of the venture. I will try to leave here no later than 5:50 a.m.
I am undergoing a Sabbath fast that I would normally end sometime after 9:30 p.m., but perhaps I will not break it at all and just get to bed. Then in good conscience, when I later rise I can treat myself to one of my rich coffees. Or I can just have a big chunk of extra old cheddar cheese for my supper and secure myself into my bedroom until such time as my brother shows up from his daily socializing, then I can retire. I dare not do so too early in the evening, for I would be running the considerable risk of never being able to endure being in bed until 4 a.m.
When this morning I got together with my true (i.e., sober) brother, we were to only watch one video. It was Thursday's latest at Rumble's A Warrior Calls channel: The Fight Is Upon Us. It topped an hour by a few minutes.
Christopher James Pritchard was far too eclectic to easily be able to offer an accurate video description. I am not going to try.
My brother headed for his bedroom no later than 11:40 a.m. to rest up for his departure in the early afternoon to do whatever it is that he does when he takes off for the day. I was to bed for a nap when he rose and left.
No sunning today, for the sunny breaks have been fairly brief ─ cloud has dominated the sky.
I was somewhat pleased late this afternoon when I had stripped down for a bath and weighed in somewhere from 186 - 187 pounds. If only I could melt off five pounds of abdominal and midsection-related flab!
Maybe this upcoming increased incidence of walking will prove the ticket.
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