The Range

It took a little will to remain in bed until my 6 a.m. alarm, for I seldom sustain sleep for long, and these blocks of slumber were becoming harder to lapse into.

I think last night was the third in a row in which I was to bed before my wife got home.

When it finally got light enough outside for me to be able to have some exercise in the backyard tool shed, I saw that a rain & wind storm last night had blown the tarp off half of the shed roof; my younger brother ─ with some scant help from me with my crippled leg ─ had covered the shed roof with the tarp because in recent years the ageing roof had begun having a leakage problem.

One side of the roof is protected by a large overhanging maple tree; but the side facing the backyard has no protection, and the tarp had lifted right up and over onto the opposite side. In achieving this action, two timbers and another heavy board securing the tarp down had been lifted off the roof, and at least a couple of lengths of cord used to secure the tarp by looping through its grommets, had broken ... or else they had been unknotted over time and just came undone.

So we were to have to deal with the restoration around midday ─ actually, it probably took maybe 1½ hours.

But it was a sunny, if somewhat breezy and chilly, day.

My early exercising in the shed was the usual pathetic showing of a single repetition in a half dozen sets of pull-ups and chin-ups; and I had the full session of squats to try and regain muscle development in the lower quadriceps muscles of my damaged right leg.

My brother never emerged from his bedroom this morning until well past 8 a.m. to watch T.V. news and drink instant coffee. I joined him a bit past 9 a.m.

At getting his invitation to start operating our Android TV Box, he warned that he had an 11 a.m. barber appointment he would need to ready and drive away to, so I was not going to tune in anything important or long.

My first selection was a 25-minute (25:29) video published earlier today to BitChute's TheCrowhouse channel: Free Joby.

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Mirror: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPAq4pYuy5E 
TAKE 30 SECONDS TO SIGN THE PETITION AT: https://FreeJoby.com

I've never heard of Joby Weeks (Jobadiah Sinclair Weeks), who has apparently been under house arrest now in an apartment building for six years. Refer to the YouTube video description for an explanation of his situation.

The video was compelling enough that I felt he is likely innocent, so I signed the petition. I just don't understand how this putative legal persecution can still continue in the U.S.A. under President Donald Trump if it is indeed unjustified.

Our second and final video was The Graham Norton Show ─ episode five of the current series or season 33.

I had eaten my day's first meal just ahead of 9 a.m. in the hope that it would settle by mid-afternoon so that I could have some comfortable light exercising in my wife's vacant bedroom, but by the time my brother left for his haircut, I had declined and needed to see if I could nap the condition off ─ he had said we would work on the shed roof at his return.

I was still lying down at his return, feeling little better, but I joined him regardless. I suppose the outdoor activity helped, as did the fresh air and sunlight.

By the time we were done ─ was it around 1:30 p.m. by then? ─ we both sought some further rest in our beds, and I got a bit of a proper nap.

I rose to find that my wife was finally up, for she clearly had not needed to go to work this morning and must only have had to work the latter part of today at the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time.

For some infernal reason my early meal was still weighing heavily, and it was not even a large meal. By the time she did leave, it must have been approaching 3:45 p.m. Whatever the case, by then the daylight had dimmed so much as darkness approached that ─ what with my general physical discomfort ─ I lost any drive to be exercising in the drear gloom of her bedroom (I cannot bear her bedroom's electrical lighting for exercise, so if there is insufficient daylight entering the window, my opportunity is past).

At 4:32 p.m. she phoned me to ask that I transfer $100 to her account ─ she said she was at a gas station, and wanted to use her debit card but only had less than $10 in it.

I can't afford this, but I complied. However, doing so has left me feeling despondent and defeated.

I find myself wanting to experience the altering effects of some alcohol as I type these words at 5:02 p.m., so I am going to break from blogging and indulge in some drinking while watching a couple of shows here on my bedside computer. My extended hope is to get to bed by mid-evening if possible, and rising at 3 a.m. for that neglected ¾-mile hobble over to the nearby elementary school playground where I may potentially have some more encouraging results at pull-ups and chin-ups than I am capable of in the shed with no proper equipment.

Lord, I feel just about hopeless. I need a financial miracle.

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My gosh! I tuned in the 2019 Christmas movie Christmas on the Range ─ it wasn't perfect, nor was it Hallmark-style, but I got thoroughly invested from the start and loved it!

Tears enough, for sure.

Thank you for yourself, Erin Cahill. I needed this movie.

My source was this uFLIX.to link.

I even managed to drink both of my usual two cans of Cariboo Malt (7.9% alcohol) that I try to limit my drinking to, but the movie ended no later than 7:25 p.m., so a glass tumbler of wine and another shorter show were in order.

But before I got it going, no later than 7:38 p.m. my brother got back from his daily afternoon foray to social drink somewhere. We had a brief chat about aches and pains, and the demolition of Canada by our Globalist-controlled government that the massive population of Libtards and other retards keep voting back in.

The wine was "haywire" 2022 Merlot from Naramata Bench Okanagan Valley King Family Vineyard (14% alcohol). I was already feeling the two beers ─ this stuff put me right over, since it was like drinking another two cans of that strong beer.

I drank the wine watching FBI ─ episode 12 ("Manhunt") of season seven. This one hit me rather hard, for I have always dreamed of being a saviour to a victim like sex trafficked children or women.

But it seems that God would rather I end my days in purposeless futility as a crippled old man riddled with nothing but regrets.

My source was this MovieGo.me link.

I am feeling relatively hammered at 9:32 p.m., so it is anyone's guess if I will be rising at 3 a.m. and actually going forth into the night to exercise.

Time runs away. As does hope.