Nothing New

The usual distancing of sleep attended my latter night, but I was still able to rise willingly enough to my 6 a.m. alarm, desirous of visiting the local Berezan liquor store approximately a half mile from here as soon as possible after its 8 a.m. opening.

And so it was to be, for I was on my way barely ahead of 8 a.m., noting that my wife's car was parked halfway into the open sided dual carport, so she had obviously come home last night after I was to bed.

It was raining very lightly out, and all was perfectly gloomy ─ only darkness could have provided more encouragement for my lame hobble to see what might be on offer by way of reasonably-priced alcohol gift packs for my two stepsons. I would also be buying myself two dozen cans of Cariboo Malt (8% alcohol).

The big young red-headed chap on duty proved most helpful so early in the morning.

Anyway, the visit ─ including my deposit of all my change into the 'tip jar' ─ topped $150. And yes, this is scary in my financial vulnerability.

I got the lads an identical three-pack of Glenmorangie Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, each of the small bottles per pack being just over 3.38 fluid ounces. One bottle has 12-year-old aged Scotch (40% alcohol); the second identified as "Quinta Ruban" is 14 years old (46% alcohol); the third is "Lasanta" and is 15 years old Scotch (43% alcohol).

Neither lad is into hard liquor, as far as I know, so I have no idea if this gift will much matter ─ but I have a $20 lottery scratch ticket gift pack for each of them as well.

The only other person I have anything to gift this Christmas is my younger brother ─ I bought him two 750-ml bottles of Scotch a couple weeks ago.

So nothing for Bev, and nothing for my wife. Bev lives here for free, pretty much; and my wife owes me so much money, it boggles me. She can buy herself something with what she owes me.

There is no one else in my life, I am so isolated socially.

I was back home before anyone else had risen for the morning. And when my brother emerged from his bedroom well past 8:30 a.m., I doubt that he had any idea I had been out.

When I joined him for some morning T.V. shortly past 9 a.m. and quickly got his invitation to put our Android TV Box to work, I tuned in a long interview on YouTube by Lara Logan that I anticipated would consume our morning, but in under 10 minutes she was into her second commercial interruption, and the SmartTube app that I use to watch YouTube videos seems to lack a means of skipping ahead through parts of a video that are of no interest.

This failure was forcing us to endure commercials irrelevant to us here in Canada, so I left SmartTube and was going to seek out Lara Logan on the Rumble app where there is a skip-ahead feature, but my brother voiced that he was not at all interested in Lara's guest, and to thus tune in something else.

And so I tuned in Agatha Christie's Poirot ─ episode three ("The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly") of the first season.

When it completed, my brother requested the final hour or more of the movie we had begun two mornings ago ─ 2004's Small Claims. My source may have been this OK.ru link, for I had previously downloaded the movie because we had several months ago watched the third movie (Small Claims: The Reunion) in the three-movie series without realizing at the time that it had two prequels. I had been curious about the movie because I wanted to see Rebecca Gibney as a younger woman after enjoying her in the T.V. series Wanted.

I also have the second movie downloaded, and we'll be getting around to watching it before Winter is done, in all likelihood. (Winter arrived early this morning around 7:03 a.m.)

My brother returned to his bedroom after the movie, but I never returned to my own bed until well past 1 p.m. after I had prepared and eaten my day's first meal.

Had I suspected that he might be making a beer run, I would have tried to ensure that I went with him, but it seems like he must have at least 10 cans in his supply.

I shall have to be alert tomorrow, though.

My wife had a full workday today, and emerged from her bedroom soon after 9:30 a.m. to shower, and was away on her wet long drive maybe a half hour later.

I had some light exercise in her vacant bedroom before the afternoon turned dark.

Right now it is 6:27 p.m. and I have supped, but now I desire to watch a couple of shows here on my bedside computer so that I can justify a couple of cans of the final half dozen Cariboo Malt I had in my supply before this morning ─ the new stuff is 8% alcohol, but this older brew is 7.9%. How they make a .1% determination surely enough that they proclaim it on their packaging, I have no idea.

I hope to be rising at 3 a.m. to get in some exercising at the nearby elementary school playground, but I am torn about that. I really feel that I need to do more in preparing for Christmas Day.

⭐⭐⭐

My first show was Friday Night Lights ─ episode six ("El Accidente") of the first season. My source was this GOOJARA.to link.

I love this series, and each time it crops up in my rotation of evening shows to watch, I am eager to get into it.

The episode ended no later than 7:20 p.m., by which time my brother had yet to return from wherever he had bused in the early afternoon to social drink.

My next choice was Rescue: HI-Surf ─ episode 12 ("Surge") of the only season. My source was this uFLIX.to link, although it had a couple of 'hiccups' I did not appreciate.

The episode was truly good, for I was touched deeply several times in the latter half of the show. My sinuses run as is, but this elevated it.

I think the episode ended by 8:35 p.m., by which time I knew that my brother had joined Bev downstairs to watch their usual banal fare.

As I worked on this latter part of my post with just two cans of beer under my belt, and Christmas music playing on the clock-radio I have here in my bedroom, I became abysmally wistful. I needed to be drunker despite jeopardizing my wee a.m. outing.

I can't take this desperate loneliness, and endless worry over my financial status.

To seek remedy, I tuned in the sitcom Whitney ─ episode 21 ["Something Old, Something New" (Part 1)] of the first season. My source was this CineGo.tv link.

This is the first time that I've downed a can of Cariboo Malt during a mere sitcom ─ I was unsure I could easily do it, being as accustomed as I have become to extend a can through 41- to even 55-minute episodes of regular series.

But I drank the danged thing and still had some show left over.

I credit the episode ─ it was quite engaging. However, I am not going to elaborate for want of time.

The extra alcohol has managed to provide the needed numbing of my emotion, so I am going to call it quits here at 10:16 p.m. and try to wrap up a lot that is left undone here on my computer. Notwithstanding, I sill surely be to bed ahead of 11 p.m. if all goes well and I do not relapse meantime and go for broke on a good drunk, sacrificing the morning.

I hate me ... my useless, pointless life.