Mix-Up

Why am I so eager for this wicked surrender to false, intimate comfort? At least I believe that I may have gotten to bed ahead of 11 p.m. last evening. And imagine ─ there was not a hint in yesterday's post of what was to follow its publication, so swift and immediate this decadence takes its hold upon being entertained.

I was not to hear my wife arrive home last night following her full day at the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time. I had sent her a Facebook Messenger text to remind her that with the June 14 home insurance billing coming due, she must remain aware that the $500 I foolishly e-Transferred her 10 or more days back has to be repaid.

And as I type these words around 2:15 p.m., she has just hit me up for $50 cash so she can go shopping and buy some meat. I don't mind so much when I know she is being dutiful, but I should have had more brains than to be e-Transferring to her late in the evening when she is not home and likely partying after working that day at the restaurant, which is located very near to a casino.

It is a sunny day today, and she is home because she has the day off work, though I am expecting that as she usually does on Wednesdays, in the latter afternoon ─ or very early evening at latest ─ she will leave and not return until Friday.

She has a life. I gave mine up ─ even God seems to be stressing this to be so, otherwise He would help me in the only way I am capable of recognizing. Frankly, I need money to ever be free of my thralldom to debtors and all of the heavy responsibilities that devolve upon me as the sole name to this heavily mortgaged house we all live in.

Living here, I am but a crippled, corrupted dependant upon everyone else.

I awoke last night in the wee hours. I never checked the time. But I was distraught over my financial inadequacy and my unspeakable weakness of moral character. This ate at me so severely that I lay awake for what seemed a couple of uncomfortable hours, wishing that I could be free of responsibility to my family so that I could die ... forever. Only this weight of responsibility keeps me living this pointless, sorry life that I have, locked away for the most part in my tiny bedroom where I keep this bedside computer.

I did anon gain sleep again; and when my 6 a.m. alarm chimed, I did not feel worse than I usually tend to feel at that point in the morning.

My youngest stepson was still up, and he remained so for at least the next hour ─ I don't understand why he does this whenever he has the next day off work, which I am assuming is why he is still in bed.

Anyway, perhaps my agitation worked in my favour in one small sense, for when I went out to the backyard tool shed shortly after 7:30 a.m. for my usual 15-minute exercise session there, that first set of pull-ups saw me manage three repetitions. The next five sets of pull-ups and chin-ups only resulted in a single repetition in each, but it has been weeks at least since I last managed three pull-ups in a set.

As always, I then underwent the squat work to strengthen my crippled right leg.

I felt undeserving of a meal, and thus all I have ingested so far today were the two morning mugs of rich instant coffee.

My younger brother never emerged from his bedroom until well enough past 8 a.m. to watch his news shows. As usual, I never hobbled back downstairs to join him until maybe 9:10 a.m.

At his invitation, I activated our R69 Plus Android 14 TV Box, and then tuned in a one-hour (1:00:18) video streamed yesterday to YouTube's AnitaK channel: CBC Funded "TV Prank" is worse than you think...with Frances Widdowson.

When a taxpayer funded "TV Prank" crosses the line with Frances Widdowson.

Next I resorted to the USB drive or stick in our T95Q Android 9 TV Box and returned to the video we had watched 30 or 40 minutes of two mornings ago. The video exceeded 1¼ hours (1:17:08), and had been published June 21, 2022, to Rumble's America's Untold Stories channel: Who Was Clay Shaw: Innocent New Orleans Businessman or JFK Conspirator?

Clay Shaw is best known for being the only person brought to trial for involvement in the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Shaw was acquitted in 1969 after less than one hour of jury deliberation. But is there more to the story?

There are numerous reference links at the original description, so if the topic interests you, please refer there.

After that I tuned in a YouTube video comprised of numerous supposed 'fails' by women, but I can't locate it anymore on YouTube ... and it wasn't largely that interesting anyway.

We finished up with a documentary that we only watched a third of, I believe, so we will need to return to it in the next day or two.

We broke from the documentary so my brother could return to his bedroom for further bed rest, and I was back to bed soon enough for a pretty good nap. My wife had not yet risen, but she was up when I rose at 1:30 p.m.

My youngest stepson was finally up around 3:40 p.m. and he and his mother seemed to be having quite a row. Apparently some of it involved my malignment for not looking into having our home insurance paid on a monthly basis, the young lad reportedly claiming he asked me to look into doing this a couple of years ago, according to his mother (he and I only talked of it a few months back, at most).

From the sound of the slamming of the front door when I suppose he headed off to use her car to go and get coffee at Tim Hortons, he's evidently quite bummed out.

I am going to break from blogging now at 4:06 p.m., for I think he may have just returned.

🔴🔴🔴

Soon after my blogging break, my stepson stopped by my open bedroom doorway on his way to shower in the bathroom, and we talked. Neither of us can cope with these massive annual billings for utilities (done in early April), home insurance June 14, and property taxes July 2.

So we concluded that after having an open consultation at some soon point with my brother when he is sober, we'll see what he may be able to extend; but we have no other option but to seek credit from the province for the property taxes and also perhaps consent to monthly billings towards next year's property taxation bill.

As well, I will contact our agent for the home insurance and see if we can get billed monthly instead of annually ─ and maybe even drop our insurance coverage level, if possible. I am awaiting mail delivery of the latest proposed coverage package that a landline telephone message late last week said was coming. The South Asian woman gave her indecipherable first name, and the general phone number for the insurance agency offices, but what good is that when I cannot phone and identify whom I am calling to speak to?

At least that discussion with the lad (28 years old?) was had.

I thought that maybe his mother left during this conversation, but it developed that she had merely undertaken a nap in her bedroom.

I got some 17 minutes into a movie here on my bedside computer while enjoying a Cariboo Malt (7.9% alcohol), when I was just about certain that I could hear her bustling through her bedroom door and that of the bathroom that is scrapingly / squeakingly loud for some reason when she opens it.

She was readying to leave, but almost groggy and professing her sleepiness.

I suppose that it was around 5:45 p.m. when she left, freeing me to resume my movie. It was the 2013 Christmas movie A Very Merry Mix-Up. My chosen source was at M4uHD.page, but I see that it is available at YouTube here if the link remains valid.

I watched it because I am enchanted by Alicia Witt. However, the write-up sounded exactly like at least one other Christmas movie I have watched these past two or three years; and I could not believe that Alicia was the lead in a Christmas movie back in 2013 that I have somehow missed seeing before.

I tried it out, and early into it realized that it was indeed new to me.

I drank two cans of beer, and had to use restraint not to get into some wine. Alicia is my dream girl, I think. She looks and sounds exactly like a girl (Jean C.) I was devastatingly addicted to back in the very late 1970s on into the early 1980s, and who would now be in her early 70s.

One of my favourite features of Alicia are her fully muscled legs, and these were magnificently displayed late in the movie when she was doing a little running in her tight dark leggings in a mix of rain and wet snow.

Jean C. had legs like Alicia's. But enough of that.

I had to work at involving myself into the movie due to how distressed I am, but I was soon enough feeling the emotion. In my case, I wanted to be obliterated ─ just struck out of existence by God, for I am too great a loser and can never be functional and socially normal. I am done. I need ending if this is all the life I am to know anymore ─ end it, and let's let everyone else move on.  

The movie was over by 7:01 p.m., and maybe 7:15 p.m. I heard my younger brother enter the house, home from wherever he had bused in the early afternoon to social drink.

I had thought that the movie would be all I would watch this evening, but it ended a bit too early for a bedtime. So I poured a dozen ounces of Domaine d'Or red wine (12% alcohol) from the wine box my wife surrendered before she left, and somehow I got a tumbler-full of the lovely drink.

And I reluctantly tuned in Smash ─ episode 11 ("The Movie Star") of season one. My source was to be at TVSeries.video. It was finished by 8:51 p.m.

I was concerned that after the lovely and emotional Alicia Witt Christmas movie, this show would be a waste of my time and the wine, but it proved deeply involving. This is a darned good series, as it usually proves every episode.

And I had entirely forgotten about the song "Our Day Will Come" by Ruby & the Romantics ─ I used to love it back in my younger years, singing to it a lot. 

Darn it! I just got sidetracked watching old music performances from the 1960s of artists I loved so much. I was going to watch a sitcom and drink a little further, but I will not now. I am going to get to bed for it is already 9:45 p.m. and I was planning the two-mile round trip hobble to my financial institution's nearest ATM so I could make a $500 deposit of cash I have on hand ─ I can't even take the 15 minutes to brush my teeth.

I hate my life.