Due to that fiasco late last evening involving the disappearance of most of that day's post when I was set to publish it ─ I forget now, but I think I may have opted for the Preview tab first, and then discovered that doing so resulted in the draft content largely disappearing, yet remaining in the Preview ─ I got to bed barely ahead of midnight. As a result, I chose to set my cellphone alarm for 6:30 a.m. rather than 6 a.m.
At rising, I quickly remembered that I needed to transfer money from my private account to my joint account (joint with my wife) to have enough in it to cover the annual utilities cheque my younger brother had dropped off at City Hall yesterday afternoon. I think that I needed to transfer $2,056 just to have something over $50 as a window of comfort in the joint account.
But in doing so, I was shocked at how little remained in my private account. Yesterday was this month's first fortnightly mortgage payment, so there will be two more this month. The next one in two weeks will virtually decimate my account. Sure, my monthly pension income will arrive just ahead of the third mortgage due date at month's end, but I will have made it this far only because I received my income tax refund of something like $2,500 not two weeks ago.
There are no other such infusions of cash coming. Yet June 14 will be our annual home insurance payment; and earliest July the monstrous annual property taxes. I can only imagine getting through this with some financial miracle, and only God can bring that about.
But He won't.
Speaking of which, today is Good Friday, and I never fully realized it until my brother mentioned it in the early afternoon. I have always longed to be financially independent so that I could live my life according to my own schedule, and not at the mercy of a household of others as is the case now.
I am corrupted in my present lifestyle, and it only grows worse. I can afford to do nothing. I do not drive; and now I cannot even walk far due to my crippled right leg. I am a prisoner of this house and my local environment where I live smothered by mostly South Asians for miles in every direction.
I need to move away far from here if I have any hope for salvaging myself from this moral / spiritual dissolution that mirrors what is happening to me physically as I age and break down, losing even physical independence.
But I must be able to move away honourably, or I am of such a temperament that my shame and guilt will be my destruction. By "move honourably", I mean that being forced to have to sell the house because of my economic failure and thereby sundering my familial relationships with everyone ─ forcing them all to have to struggle without any further support from me as I flee these parts ─ this act would prey so heavily upon my conscience that what little fight I have to live will have become nearly extinguished.
But I cannot live around here ─ I need to be free of the oppressive presence of the populations everywhere around that keep me a prisoner of my own home because I cannot bear to be outside and exposed to them. I need privacy in which to try to walk, but it does not exist outside.
I am dying inside, and no one here suspects. Sometimes, I feel excruciatingly lonely.
So to "move honourably" would require a major lottery win that would allow me to set up my wife and her two sons, as well as my brother ─ I would pay off the mortgage on this house, for example; and give each a substantial portion of my win.
And then I could go. And quite possibly not feel this depth of loneliness. Maybe ─ had I the means ─ one or more of these family members could also go wherever I would go.
But to sell the house and force everyone to fend for themselves because I cannot bear to live in this part of the country any longer for my life's sake, would crush me with despair. I can see not living another year. It would be more than I could bear ─ my pointless, crippled final days.
I may not seem so to others, but I do believe that at some crucial level I am profoundly retarded, and it is a miracle I have ever made it to the age of 76.
Enough! On with my day's post.
I had the usual early morning pathetic exercise session out in the backyard tool shed ─ a single repetition in all six sets of pull-ups and chin-ups; followed by the squat work to try and benefit my right leg.
It was after 8 a.m. before my brother emerged from his bedroom to launder, watch morning T.V. news shows, and drink instant coffee.
Around 9:10 a.m. I went downstairs to join him, finding him absent as he busied with his laundry. So I took control of the T.V. to use our R69 Plus Android 14 TV Box to set us up with a nearly two-hour (1:55:52) video apparently uploaded simultaneously yesterday to YouTube's The Diary Of A CEO and Pierre Poilievre channels: Pierre Poilievre: The Economy Is About to Collapse! America Is Making a Huge Mistake!
The Man Who Could Lead Canada By 2029: Pierre Poilievre On Trump, Tariffs & Why You Still Can't Afford A Home
Pierre Poilievre is the Leader of the Conservative Party of Canada and Leader of the Opposition. First elected to Parliament at 25, he has spent over 2 decades in Canadian politics - winning the Conservative leadership in 2022 with a record 68% first-ballot victory. If the polls hold, he could be Canada's next Prime Minister.
I must admit here that Pierre impressed me somewhat more than he did when he was recently interviewed by Joe Rogan. In that latter interview, I was not swayed from intending to vote in any next federal election for Maxime Bernier; but this video made Pierre seem more trustworthy than I have ever felt him to be.
So I don't know. Any next election is far off ─ it may not even happen until 2029. Heck, I could be dead.
When the show was done, we got well into another video, but around 11:45 a.m. had to postpone watching it so my brother could seek further bed rest before he was to leave afoot for a bus to carry him away to social drink.
I was possibly to bed by 12:10 p.m. for my nap, and was up again around 1:30 p.m. My brother seemed to by then be emerging from his bedroom after fixing himself up for that social drinking, though it was too early yet to be heading off.
I perforce kept him company in the living room for possibly 10 minutes after mixing up my day's second and final coffee.
And anon, away he went. Bev never emerged from their bedroom until I was back here at my bedside computer. I was soon to suspect that my wife had come home, for the amount of noise in the kitchen was indicative of her at work. Then I was to hear her talking, possibly on her cellphone, but it could have been to her youngest son.
She was most likely scheduled to work the latter part of today; and indeed, she did take off shortly after 3 p.m. But not once did she say a word to me as she passed by my bedroom door a couple of times during her hour or less here at home.
I had delayed a bath in the earlier afternoon because I was expecting that she would come home before heading off again for work ─ I didn't want to tie up the bathroom for the hour or so in which I would be occupying it.
When it is a bath day, I generally forsake any afternoon exercising. I haven't the time, as a rule, to exercise, bath, and do my blogging.
Right now it is 5:32 p.m. and I recently finished my day's second and final meal. It is now time for me to break from blogging and watch some T.V. shows here on my bedside computer while having the usual two cans of Cariboo Malt (7.9% alcohol) and at least 12 ounces of Sommet Rouge wine (12% alcohol).
I shall update later this evening and then publish this post ─ AFTER first copying the HTML data in case the draft is once again deleted by Blogger. I am going to try and make this a common practice from now on.
First up was Smash ─ episode six ("Chemistry") of season one. Actresses Katharine McPhee and Megan Hilty are an absolutely devastating pair of females! The voices and legs on these two are overwhelming.
My source for the episode was this TVSeries.video link. And it was done no later than 6:34 p.m. ─ maybe even 6:32 p.m. ─ I forgot to take careful note.
I had maybe a mouthful of beer left from my first can with which to greet my next show.
That show was Profiler ─ episode five ("Unsoiled Sovereignty") of the first season. My source was this 1Moviesz.to link. I think that this was the first time that I had that website throw up a spam window that I killed pretty fast ─ I can't recall what the end target was.
This was an involving episode, for I was never quite sure if any of 'the good guys' were going to die.
So ... two cans of beer extinguished. But damn! I forgot to even look at the time this show concluded ─ 7:35 p.m. at earliest, I bet.
The third show's conclusion I did not fail to note ─ 8:43 p.m. The show was FBI ─ episode 21 ("Devoted") of season seven. My source was another TVSeries.video links.
Again, a very good show! Totally engrossing.
It was early yet, obviously; and I had an ounce or so of wine remaining in my glass. So I took a break to brush my teeth before watching a sitcom.
Well, it was a half hour sans commercials ─ I needed to nurse an additional half shot or so of Red Label Blended Scotch Whisky (40% alcohol). I am so damned reluctant to drink that which I cannot be affording to replace without that earlier spoken-of financial miracle. But how else do I endure this secluded, barren, solitary life?
At one time, I could have gone on a late-night walk for three or more hours. And do so regularly.
I am invalid now. Almost helpless. And worthless.
It does not help that I watched Entourage ─ season one's finale episode eight ("New York"). My source was once again a TVSeries.video link. The episode ended at 10 p.m.
These hedonistic young men with no sincere value for women or money is so deeply discouraging. But I am still somewhat the young man I once was ─ I respond to the imagery of the beautiful lovely ladies I once idealized when I was that young man.
If I was entirely sober at this point in my evening, I would be riddled with piercing despair; but I am somewhat numbed, fortunately. And this is why I need to be able to drink during my evenings ─ I cannot endure this bleak reality each and every day through.
Is there hope for me?
Whatever, my brother was not yet back before I began Entourage, but he was here thereafter. Right now it is p.m., so I am going to copy the HTML data and then publish this post.
Good luck to me.
My wife got home around 10:18 p.m. and rather playfully approached to take charge of the contents of the dwindling box of red wine, for she would be sitting up much later than I have any intention of doing. And I still very much love her.
No comments:
Post a Comment