It escapes me just what time it was that I got to bed last evening, but citing mid-evening may not be too off the mark. I set my cellphone alarm for 3 a.m. to get me up for my five-mile+ walk.
It was good being in bed, and I slept in a few successive blocks of sleep, primarily waking after assuming a posture in which I was combining side and belly sleeping with my head turned in one direction, and then shifting so that I was facing in the opposite direction to ease back into further sleep.
I recall something of one unsettling dream that involved the death somehow of possibly a young woman whose body was essentially left quite high atop a stack of things in a large room ─ maybe a bedroom. The stack was unrealistically high in that she would not easily be noticed by anyone.
I lost memory of how she died, nor even if I had any direct involvement as in some sort of accident. She may have been ill. The whole incident was just weird. It was as if having her body left in that immediately unnoticeable spot in the house or other building would delay any sort of inquiry which would just be of utmost inconvenience for me.
Anyway, between my bouts of sleep, I reached a wakeful point where I decided to check the time. It was 2:51 a.m., so I opted to rise then.
My sore throat had continued, as had the infectious spread to my nasal passageways. Perhaps I was a tad feverish, and this was why I was able to spend as much comfortable time in bed as I did.
I was to find that my wife had come home and was in her bedroom for the night. However, my eldest stepson was still up, apparently unseen downstairs at the dining table where he seems to prefer sitting and watching videos on a laptop or tablet or some such.
I find it annoying when I have a walk planned because it means I am going to have to ready surreptitiously and do my best to sneak away unseen.
An online check of the temperature hereabouts netted the claim of -16° Celsius (3.2° F.), so not only would I be dressing very warmly, but I was not going to be carrying anything, nor even stopping at the nearby elementary school playground to attempt pull-ups and chin-ups.
I had my Titan baton flashlight stun gun tucked inside my jacket which itself was insulated with a removable faux woollen or fur lining that zips directly into the jacket. I knew that even when wearing cheap ski gloves, the metal flashlight becomes unbearably cold. Also, the cold would probably adversely affect the rechargeable battery of the flashlight.
I also wore a hoodie to protect my vulnerable ears.
Fortunately there was no wind to exacerbate conditions.
Nonetheless, I must have a better alternative where gloves are concerned. The ski gloves did not shield out the cold, and the interior of the glove's fingers became as chilled as if the interior was somehow damp. Ultimately, I had to walk with my hands clenched as fists inside the palms of the gloves, the empty glove fingers just extending.
I had my concerns about the stretch of 100th Avenue between 140th and 148th Streets (Google Map) because roughly a year ago a cab stopped to charitably give me a ride ─ at the time, I had not even walked a fourth of the way from 140th Street to 148th Street.
I understood that the cabby's 'good Samaritan' gesture is not something that should be discouraged, so I accepted his ride and made out as if I was only going as far as 148th Street, and he let me off there ─ he was proceeding to the Guildford area.
But it was unacceptable to me back then to have the distance of my walk shortened, so I continued on to 152nd Street and then doubled back, thereby adding a mile to my walk in atonement for maybe the ¾ of a mile that the cabby had 'saved' me.
Had I chosen to walk on the opposite side of 100th Avenue, I would have been less likely to have been offered a ride. And from 144th Street, the sidewalk there is well removed from the avenue and shielded by trees. I would have been unseen.
Well, last night I almost did cross over the avenue to use the obscured sidewalk. But there had been such a dearth of traffic that I felt it unlikely that the good Samaritan experience would strike me again.
But it did. This time it was not a taxi, but the driver offering the ride was again a South Asian male.
I tried the same stunt, saying that I was going as far as 148th Street and expecting that he would let me off there. However, instead he turned right onto 148th Street in a bid to be extra generous to me, even though he was going to 152nd Street.
A couple of times I made a weak gesture to indicate that he could let me off at the entranceway to a residential complex, but he was not paying attention, and I lacked the assertiveness because there was always the chance that the poor chap would just pull into such a complex and want to take me directly to my specific townhome.
Finally we were approaching 96th Avenue, and it was then that I declared that he could let me off at that intersection, fibbing that my destination was just a short distance to the other side of the light.
That was fine with him, for he could turn onto 96th Avenue and proceed up to 152nd Street.
So we parted company after I had thanked him graciously and even shook his hand.
I then had to make up for the near mile of walking he had saved me, so I kept following 148th Street to the Fraser Highway, which is virtually four blocks distant (or half a mile), and then I returned to 96th Avenue and resumed my usual route.
But yes, it was wretchedly cold!
I had left home at approximately 3:30 a.m., and was back well ahead of 5:30 a.m. Strangely, I now forget when I returned to bed. Was it maybe around 5:45 a.m. ... or maybe nearer an hour later than that?
I also do not clearly recall just when I began my morning, but I do not believe that it was too much removed from 9:15 a.m. My younger brother was already watching T.V.
I was to learn from him that Fred ─ the mid-80s gent I wrote about in yesterday's post ─ had already phoned him, and needed my brother to come and visit when he went out at 10:10 a.m. to pick up his girlfriend Bev two miles from here and drive her to work.
This Fred is pathetically helpless. My brother says that Fred cannot even get it together enough to make the call ─ he has to get another resident of the apartment building to place the call for Fred.
Poor Fred has destroyed his brain through polypharmacy, and maybe vaccinations and the COVID-19 experimental genetic shot are also involved.
My brother told of how Fred ─ a chain-smoker ─ will start to look for something, completely forget what it was he was after, yet keep feeling about for 'something' he no longer has any idea he wants.
A couple of days ago Fred was feeling about on his cluttered table until he came up with a pack of cigarettes, and was then about to extract one from the pack when my brother exclaimed to him that he already had one in his mouth!
It was then that Fred realized that he had meant to find his lighter.
Oh, gosh, I am digressing.
My brother invited me to put our Android TV Box to work before he had to leave, so I tuned in Odessa Orlewicz's 42-minute (42:46) video from yesterday: Depopulation In Full Swing Part 1.
Mass amounts of depop in real time info has been coming out since the new year started in such high amounts I can barely keep up. Catch up in this episode with me, while also seeing videos from back in the day where the elite show their plans for depopulation.
I didn't bother to pause the video when he left, for I correctly expected that he would be gone for the remainder of the morning. Possibly I should have at least paused it long enough to get some exercise out in the backyard tool shed, but I was too daunted by the thought of how cold the metal bars would be. They are too thick to do pull-ups or chin-ups with when wearing gloves ─ a secure grip is simply not possible.
As well, I was and still am feeling weak due to my Sabbath fast that I will not be terminating until after dark.
Most unfortunately, my wife was up before I had a chance to return to bed for a nap. I should not have waited until the onset of noon, but I wanted to give my brother the opportunity of watching something if he did get back late in the morning.
He did not.
My wife was supposed to have made a payment yesterday to a lawyer firm of something like $862.50, but she can't scrape together more than $500. I know she told me this because she was hoping that I would volunteer her some money, but she has already sucked away $650 from me since I got my pension during the final less than two weeks of December.
I have two bills that I need to pay, and I am waiting to see how much my small quarterly RRIF payment will be ─ it ought to arrive mid-month. I cannot give her any further charity when she is able to 'live large' with her partying friends, all while I remain practically under house arrest, unable to afford to get myself things that I need.
She created her credit debt ─ that payment was to be her fourth of six to clear a credit card debt that she shirked early in the year by leaving the country for six months, first visiting a sister of hers who lives in Rome, and then flying on to Thailand to visit her mother and other family and friends in the Udon Thani City area.
I did not even know that she was failing to make her credit card payments.
Anyway, I had this concern for her weighing me down and forestalling my nap further deep into the noon hour ... and then my brother finally returned. As I feared, he was keen on watching at least something, so I tuned in a 26-minute documentary added on the 9th to YouTube's BlazeTV channel: What Really Happened in Maui? | Blaze Originals.
In August 2023 wildfires broke out in Maui, decimating the historic town of Lahaina, burning over 1700 acres, costing over $5 billion in property damage, and leading to an ever-shifting death and casualty toll numbering between 100-200 lives. Federal and state authorities briskly stepped in to provide aid and support, and the news media set out to uncover what exactly happened in the state that provides our nation’s only defense against the looming threat of China... right? WRONG. Joe Biden showed up TWO WEEKS after the fires to tell an incoherent anecdote about how he once almost lost a Corvette in a fire, and the incident remained shrouded in mystery, allowing for conspiracy theories, like direct energy weapons, to permeate social media feeds.
So, what really happened in Maui? Lauren Chen and the Blaze Originals team traveled to Maui to expose the shocking institutional and governmental failures that exacerbated the fires, destroyed thousands of lives, and allowed for a select few to profit from the disaster.
Thereafter my brother had some short bed rest, and then left for the day to socialize.
My wife had to work the latter part of the day ─ the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time opens at 4:30 p.m. after a daily 3 p.m. closure ─ so I tried to be available to her for as long as I could. But she and I do not communicate much, and she tends to pass time watching videos on her smartphone, while I sit here at my computer.
I finally became too desperate for at least some dark bed rest, so I left my bedroom door ajar about half a foot at most and lay within my bed blindfolded, doing my best to relax into any possible sleep.
Eventually I did hear her fussing about; and then she seemed to go outside ─ I thought maybe to just put some things into her car, for I was sure at least one of her sons was present and I had not heard her bid a farewell.
But she was gone.
As this post has progressed, night did come, and I broke my fast. Regardless, for the past few days I have planned on watching a Christmas movie early after dark and enjoying it with some drink. There is little sense in trying to watch a movie if I do not have sufficient time before a possible homecoming by my brother.
To my colossal annoyance, my eldest stepson has nothing better to do that sit at the dining table since his mother's departure, watching videos on his laptop. I cannot watch T.V. without being a boor and driving him away, so my plans are likely to be thwarted.
And all because he has nothing better to do with his time. The guy has a car ... a girlfriend ... a very well paying job; while all I have are my shows to enjoy, with a little drink.
Yes, I am feeling considerably sorry for myself. I am also with a vague caffeine withdrawal headache due to my 24-hour Sabbath fast in which I had no coffee.
I will be having to get to bed as soon as I become aware that my brother has gotten home, for I have early plans for tomorrow that do not allow of a late night sitting up with him. Yet it is not much past 7 p.m., and already I am so darned tired as I sit here at my bedside computer.
I hate this.
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