If I am remembering accurately, I was allowing myself just barely under four hours of time in bed last night before my set cellphone alarm was to chime at 1:30 a.m. to get me up to ready for another five-mile+ walk.
I was feeling somewhat desperate to garner that time in bed.
Well, imagine my self-outrage when after some sleep I was awake enough to check the time, feeling some need for a trip to the toilet ─ wondering if it was yet near enough to 1:30 a.m., I looked and found that it was only 11:10 p.m.
How the Hell is such nonsense possible? Why does my stupid body constantly betray me in every way possible?
Sure, eventually I did manage some further sleep, but it is likely that I rose ahead of my alarm ─ I forget now.
An online check of the claimed temperature hereabouts yielded a reading of 5.6° Celsius (42.08° F.) ─ I would definitely be wearing a sweatshirt under my heavy denim jacket. By the time I was all dressed to go, I may have weighed just an edge over 190 pounds.
I was to find everything still very wet outside from plenteous rain over yesterday; and betimes it was very gusty. Sometimes it would spit rain, but never enough to get me damp.
At the elementary school playground three or four blocks from here where I had a half dozen sets of pull-ups and chin-ups, I dispensed with the concluding set of 10 slow full-range push-ups in a declined posture on a cement ramp because, frankly, it gets me too wet. I lower myself until I can just feel my thighs and torso lightly touch the concrete before I push back up to an elbows-locked pose. Also, my gloves soak up water from the cement ─ more than what they get from gripping wet metal bars for pull-ups and chin-ups.
I only had one encounter I could have done without over the course of my walk. It happened when I was shortcutting past the Surrey Taxation Centre on my way to King George Boulevard (Google Map). Along a walkway beside the 'lower' side of the building I was to see someone coming in my direction from the far end of the walkway.
This guy was hustling along, bearing a fairly large cube-shaped cardboard box containing some sort of appliance or electronic device. He was hooded, and seemed to have on a black leather coat or jacket.
I expected that he would pass me by, but as he neared I realized that he was meandering wildly along the walkway, and he was basically dragging or shuffling his feet with every short, rapid step he took.
He had the locomotion of someone strung out on crack or some similar substance.
When we coincided (he was somewhat shorter than I), he asked in a sort of exhausted type of voice that was only barely audible, was he going the correct way to get to the SkyTrain? Note that he seemed unable to look directly at my face ─ his own face seemed mostly directed at the ground.
Well, if you compare our location on that last map to the marker on this one that identifies the location of the last SkyTrain station (King George Station) here in Surrey, you will see that it is a couple or so further blocks 'up' King George Boulevard.
This clown had just come from King George Boulevard ─ why on Earth was he now cutting through somewhere that was clearly no longer a roadway?
So I told him that he was headed the wrong direction. He had to return to the highway.
He mumbled something, and then turned about with the clear intention of walking with me to that highway. It then became more apparent to me that the guy might be a 'crackhead' ─ he maintained that very same foot-dragging shuffle that gave an outward semblance of an urgent pace, but I was only walking yet had to slow right down so that this character could keep up with me.
This was annoying ─ I am not on these walks to waste time. I determined that once at the highway, I would point him to where he needed to go, and I would proceed directly across the highway to a short street and make as if that was my destination.
I was actually going to be turning up Fraser Highway, but I had no desire to lose the amount of time that would be the case by having to dawdle along with this slow shuffler. Besides, a short distance up that street across the way is another very short lane that runs almost to Fraser Highway ─ the lane ends at a set of cement steps leading down to it.
I had to get away from this slow-poking guy who kept trying to talk, but would not speak up ─ I often understood nothing. I did hear him claim that his wallet and all of his I.D. had been stolen. Did he even have any money?
My take is that this fellow was not going to use the SkyTrain ─ it had quit running by this time, but he seemed to understand that. He spoke of "a night bus" and a bus exchange. Nevertheless, I believed that once this guy parked himself somewhere to rest, he would begin to lose what little awareness he seemed to possess and the result would be that his large boxed appliance or electronic device would part company with him.
I did feel bad for him, but he put himself into this fix. I'm 74 years old ─ I am not about to be serving as babysitter for some guy half my age who is wasted on drugs or booze or both.
Anyway, apart from that encounter, the only other notable mention was having a raccoon sighting a short distance ahead of me ─ this was over an hour later. I was then walking the Fraser Highway, and it crossed from the side opposite me to my side of the highway. But by the time I reached where it had disappeared, there was still no sign of it.
I might have glimpsed a raccoon much earlier, as well.
I had left home at 1:54 a.m., and was back at 3:46 a.m.
My wife had apparently come home at some point following her long day working at the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time ─ her bedroom door was pulled closed, but had not been earlier. Both she and her eldest son drive grey cars; there was only one in the driveway, but I never took notice of whose it was.
Normally I try to be back in bed by 5:30 a.m., but dissolution kept me up until virtually 7 a.m.
Despite that, I still managed to rouse around 8:30 a.m. and rose, for my younger brother was by then watching T.V. downstairs. I joined him just after 9 a.m., and was soon invited to put our Android TV Box into action.
The video I settled upon has numerous sources, so I selected one on Rumble. Since I now have no idea which source that was, I will arbitrarily select one to link to, but title it differently: CovidLand: Part 1 ─ The Lockdown.
The first episode of Covidland, The Lockdown, exposes the fraud behind the COVID numbers and explores the economic repercussions and human cost of lockdowns that will echo for generations.
It ran for nearly 1¾ hours.
All we had time for thereafter was an episode of The Last O.G. ─ this one was season three's episode four ("They Reminisce Over You").
There was a scene where the main character had to kiss a homeless woman played by Deborah Offner before she would turn over a pair of Air Jordan basketball shoes to him. By my estimation, she would really have been the loser in that kiss ─ actor Tracy Morgan ain't no hot prize!
Well, my wife has had the day off work, and has remained home. Fortunately, she did not emerge from her bedroom until after I had gone back to bed for my early afternoon nap this surprisingly sunny day.
My wife certainly prepared a grand supper! With the leftovers that she brought home from the restaurant last night, I will not be braving my own fare for at least a couple of days.
Anyway, after eating while watching some T.V., I indulged in two cans of strong (8% alcohol) malt. The entertainment included an episode of FBI ─ this one was season five's episode 15 ("The Lies We Tell"). And Cybill was the finale episode ("Going Out with a Bang") of season two.
I have to admit that even though Christine Baranski back then does not have the same stimulus for me that she did back in 1996, she was undeniably a hot ol' gal for someone aged 44 (as of May 2, 1996).
I was 46 ─ I turned 47 in October, 1996.
I plan to get up overnight at 1:30 a.m. to ready for another of my five-mile+ walks, so I must get to bed ─ it is already just after 9:40 p.m.
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