Poor Yvette

I think that I heard my wife come home last night after I was to bed, but she was not here this morning.

My cellphone alarm was set for 3:30 a.m. to get me up for a six-block walk to give my damaged right knee some work, but I had wakeful periods after getting to bed shortly after 10 p.m. (I believe); so when I was into a particularly strong such break, I checked the time and saw it to be 2:28 a.m. After a few further minutes of pondering, I recognized the futility of delaying getting up.

To my considerable surprise, my younger brother was still downstairs with the T.V. playing, and he seemed conscious. I can only presume that he had been unconscious for some of the earlier night.

I didn't let him aware that I was now up as well, and just a bit past 3 a.m. I heard him finally come upstairs and go properly to bed.

I had my walk, but it may have been as late as 4:20 a.m. before I left here. My youngest stepson was shut up in the bathroom showering. I am not positive, but I think he's been taking two showers a day of late. Considering that he does nothing physical except walk a one-mile round trip to a Tim Hortons for coffee once or twice a day, this fastidious cleanliness seems uncalled for. And except for Tuesdays as a rule, he otherwise works from home during the week.

I found it to be dry but damp-seeming and rather chilly outside on the walk that started off with me extremely indignant because I was immediately foiled and had the walk delayed five or more minutes because a neighbour immediately next door who drives a cab had just come home and was just sitting in the vehicle instead of getting out and going into the house.

Meantime, in the other direction several houses away, another vehicle had parked and was just sitting with its damned lights on, so I could not walk that way either.

I go for these walks when I do because I want utter privacy. I feel exposed with my leg as unstable as it has become, for I am physically in jeopardy and desire to have no one else in my vicinity. Nor do I appreciate being witnessed as I locomote in crippling fashion ─ some pride or self-dignity is in play.

I do not know any of these South Asians, so they may as well just be strangers on the street.

But I waited the cabbie out and was able to proceed in that direction, as was my intention. I always return past where the other vehicle was parked.

I found the quadriceps around the top regions of my knee to be especially weak ─ I think due to 25 partial squats that I had challenged it to late yesterday afternoon or very early evening. My quadriceps feel to have shrunken from the lack of activity ─ it has now been 30 days since my accident, and I do not commonly get out on these walks. As well, I am unsure just what I can do to exercise the muscles. Even yet when I elevate that bad leg, there starts to be a burning of the lowermost lateral quadriceps that makes me mindful of a muscle tear.

It is all so disheartening.

I cannot even exercise my upper body because the only weight I have access to is a dumbbell that weighs 42½ pounds. I need two good legs to use this much weight with one arm, and my bad knee is too much of a risk of me buckling ─ especially so since I have not exercised at all in this whole time and I am definitely much weaker for it.

Even before the accident, attempting to press the weight overhead would sometimes have me off balance and I might take a step back to regain it. That would likely have a disastrous outcome in my present state ─ I cannot risk it.

So I'm in a most wretched fix.

I don't even know it I can do leg-raises ─ I have not tried. I should, though. Just limiting my eating to prevent the development of increased corpulence is not doing aught for muscle maintenance nor core strength.

Following my walk, I believe that I was back to bed ahead of 6 a.m. However, I am even less clear on when I rose again ─ certainly before 9 a.m., and probably nearer to 8 a.m.

It was not unexpected that I was to gain possession of the T.V. after 9 a.m. when I went downstairs to boil water for my day's first of three mugs of instant coffee, but I don't think that it was quite yet 9:30 a.m. when my brother emerged from his bedroom to join me ─ I was newly into a nearly 1¾-hour (1:43:37) video published yesterday to Rumble's MattEhret channel: The Dystopic Mission of Mark Carney feat. Matt Ehret - WORLD PREMIERE! 

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After that we finally watched the last half or so of the 1959 movie Attack of the Giant Leeches that we had first got into last Wednesday morning.

One of the two supporting actresses played a tart of an unfaithful young wife ─ the actress was Yvette Vickers. She was to live into her early 80s, but the date of her death ─ and thus her actual age ─ is unknown. Refer to the Wikipedia article on her to see why.

The other actress was Jan Shepherd who was to have a happier life, and went on to live to the age of 96. In fact, she only died in January of this year.

My source for the movie ─ which I had previously downloaded back in January, I believe ─ was published June 21, 2022, to Rumble's Retro Classic TV, Cartoon & Movies channel: Attack Of The Giant Leeches 1959.

Bev was downstairs to take over the T.V. before the movie was quite finished, so the T.V. is going to probably have been running for 15 or more hours before it finally gets turned off tonight.

My brother's bed rest following the movie was a little longer than usual, I suppose. I had my nap meantime without benefit of having eaten yet. I didn't nap well, likely due to distant neighbours making an enormous amount of ruckus with male voices roaring and yelling, and women shrieking and screaming ─ it was going on in the latter morning, and even into the latter afternoon I have heard occasional outbursts. I don't know what sort of partying scene goes on over there, but it is far too damned frequent for my liking or patience.

I didn't take note of exactly when my brother left on foot to catch a bus so that he could do some social drinking, but it was between 1:30 - 2 p.m.

Will he be home early, and in less than a blitzed state? That is ever the question, alas.

As a result, I cannot predict my evening. Often when he comes home he seems content to just sit with Bev and watch the empty-headed nonsense she enjoys watching. I suspect that he thinks that he will just drink with her until she has had enough of her white wine and has to go to bed, but I most decidedly do not sit here cooped up in my bedroom at my bedside's computer waiting for the opportunity of Bev finally going to bed so that I can join my brother and then tune in and watch with him a few of the shows that we follow in common.

For now at 4:14 p.m., I am going to take a break from this post and report back well into the evening. I may even return to bed for a while, since I have nothing much else to do except sit on this hard desk swivel chair developing hemorrhoids while hunched over a too-low desk and keyboard, aching and stiffening my back.

I need an alternate and better life; but that is never going to happen without a major lottery win to free me from where and what I am.

★★★

My brother was not home by 8 p.m., so I selected a source here at my bedside computer for an episode of The Rookie ─ episode seven ("Crushed") of season six. As usual, it was a very absorbing show. My source for it was this GOOJARA.to link.

I had no sooner finished the episode and was brushing my teeth while mulling over whether to watch something else, than I heard my brother come into the house ─ it was at least 8:50 p.m.

He was very drunk, as evidenced by his voice as he talked to Bev. He would be hopeless company to try and watch any of our shows with because apart from his blathering commentary, he is only going to soon pass out and any show is going to be wasted on him.

But I feel it too early to get to bed as yet, so I am going to watch something else and have my second can of Cariboo Malt (7.9% alcohol) of the evening. I just hope Bev has not yet drunk herself too helpless and will still be downstairs when my show is finished, for I want nothing to do with my brother.

It is 9:10 p.m.

★★★

My second show was 9-1-1: Lone Star ─ episode two ("Trainwrecks") of season five. Wow! This one even hit me emotionally during one scene!

My source was this GOOLJARA.to link ─ that website has been nearly aces of late.

After I peeked forth from my darkened bedroom doorway to see what was happening downstairs, I espied my baby 72-year-old brother passed out in his favourite chair, snoring away to whatever nonsense Bev had on the T.V., although she was not in evidence. My suspicion is that she was outside contributing to her life-shortening COPD, because she refuses to quit smoking ─ just as she refuses to even take a walk for a measly block because "it's too hard". There is nothing wrong with her legs ─ she simply stopped using them to walk anywhere and now believes that she cannot, but will no longer try, and she just in her mid-50s.

She's going to die young, and it's going to be entirely because she will not lift a finger to preserve herself.

All else I have to report is that this past week there were three days in which I ate but one meal; and my only 'snacks' were my three coffees, plus whatever beer I drank.

And now today, I am going to bed with just my midday meal. Possibly I will eat earlier than usual tomorrow, but I have thought that before and did not follow through.

Anyway, I have nothing more to say. It is 10:19 p.m.