After turning off the T.V. last evening reasonably early, I felt unready yet to be heading straight to bed, so I decided to play just one game of FreeCell.
Naturally, a fairly tough one turned up. My intention had been to still get to bed before 11:00 p.m., but this poser kept me involved a little longer than I had projected. It was 11:10 p.m. before finally I was into bed ─ still not bad, though.
I always seem to observe my first break in sleep with a visit to the bathroom, and a drink of water; last night was no different, but I cannot recall when it was this occurred.
It was 6:01 a.m. this morning when I felt unable to easily sleep further and so chose to rise after some rather interesting dreaming ─ all of which is now lost to my memory. I didn't immediately get up, however ─ I could hear my eldest step-son Tho downstairs, still fussing about in preparation for work.
So I waited a few minutes until he had left.
As I was boiling the water for my morning's hot blend of instant coffee / cocoa powder, I heard my youngest step-son Poté's cellphone alarm sound, and smartly be turned off.
He never rose until after I was back up here to my computer. And peculiarly, just like yesterday morning, I never heard a word of conversation between him and his overnighted girlfriend. If I did not know that she was here last night when I went to bed, I would think that the 19-year-old was entirely alone.
There was considerable rain throughout much of the morning. I set up a new post at my Latin Impressions website, but I could have done considerably more with it. However, I had grown unusually sleepy, even though it was not yet 10:00 a.m.
I wanted to have some exercise in the backyard shed, but my state and the downpour of rain then in effect persuaded me to seek rest in bed for about an hour. It was sufficient to find the rain temporarily quelled; and after moving about on a few chores, I was soon able to confront that exercise, even though I was still unpleasantly sleepy.
My brunch ─ which is my first meal of the day ─ was quite heavy, and I think that I may have begun it around 12:48 p.m. I had fixed myself overmuch, and had to discipline myself to stay the course and finish what I had prepared.
The load had essentially incapacitated me. I spent some time exploring some YouTube videos, and then gave it up and sought another hour or so in bed, obeying the advice of health experts to lie upon my left side to facilitate better digestion.
This is hardly how I wish I was living my life, but the conditions I live under make anything else presently impossible. I have never won the big lottery prize I have waited most of my adult life to win; and I am unable to generate a second income online.
I am a prisoner in this house to debt ─ my reward for getting married, and later bringing my Thai wife here to Canada in May 2006, followed by her two sons in September 2008.
I have spoken of how she charged up the flight fare to a credit card in order to return to Thailand last Fall to see her mother for the first time since she was back there in March 2013. Well, I learned within the past 10 days that she also borrowed a considerable sum while over there from one of her two older sisters ─ if I remember correctly, it was 5,000 euros.
The sister has a life in Italy, although she foolishly turned down an opportunity a few years back to take out Italian citizenship.
Anyway, the pressure is being applied by the sister for Jack to make repayment.
Jack took the following three photos of flowers on, I think, November 10, 2016 ─ quite possibly in the city of Udon Thani. That is all that I can offer concerning them.
This last plant quite reminds me of a pitcher plant:
There are other photos of plants immediately after these three in Jack's collection, but they were taken just over three hours later. Thus, I will present them in a subsequent post. It was those others that gave me the impression that the photographs were taken in Udon Thani, for the three photos above shed no such clue,
Just earlier this month, there have been a spate of reports concerning a bit of a study that has learned that about two-thirds of American doctors receive some level of payment from drug and/or medical device companies ─ here are some examples of the articles:
It is odd to me why these and other reports like them have all just come out, for it was already making news a full year ago ─ note this Canadian article from March 16, 2016, at the National Post: Canadian drug companies agree to divulge how much they pay doctors, health groups.
Under the U.S. law, drug companies reported US$6.45 billion in payments to physicians and hospitals in 2014, including money for research.
More than 600,000 doctors – about two-thirds of the total – received sums ranging from a few dollars to millions of dollars.
So where have all of these tardy news services been since last year?
I have no idea if such a Canadian database as America's Open Payments has been set up, however. I sure don't know of it.
I think that the first time I ever heard of carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS) was in 1982 or 1983. A young male co-worker of mine suffered from it, but I cannot now recall if he had already gotten surgery for it, or if that was still in store.
The job was clerical in nature.
Well, a recent study has concluded that surgery yields no better results in treatment than does physical therapy (PT). These reports tell of it:
I remember ─ it must have been 15 or so years ago ─ when I was somewhat interested in Matt Furey's workout material, he flogged a programme that claimed to cure carpal tunnel syndrome in just 30 days.
I have no idea what it involved, nor if it truly was effective; but clearly, anyone undertaking the programme would have to work at it. You can't just be lazy and expect results.
I noticed just now that YouTube has various videos proclaiming to offer methods to cure CTS ─ for example, this one uploaded on August 21, 2013, has a link in the description where it is promised that free information on nine exercises to end the pain will be sent to anyone subscribing.
I didn't bother ─ I don't have CTS. But my suspicion is that the free information is only going to be a lengthy spiel selling the product, and you wil ultimately have to buy it to know just what the system really entails.
Buyer beware, I suppose.
No one wants anything to do with Alzheimer's disease, so people definitely will grasp at straws when they are involved with it.
Note the latest hubbub:
I know nothing of the drug pramlintide, but I would look elsewhere if it came to treating someone I loved ─ or even myself.
I think this more critical report on the study is probably more in line with the reality than is that first bit of praise at ScienceDaily.com:
There are some good ideas offered in that latter report. A good start for anyone's research, at any rate.
Man, I am pushed for time yet again!
Here to close today's post is a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. Those small quarters were being rented in a house located on Ninth street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.
MONDAY, March 22, 1976I got up at 8:00 a.m.My throat was so thick with mucous during the night, I felt nearly like it was choking me.I was going to visit Art today, but my complexion is such that I prefer not to go outdoors. I'm still coughing my head off.At 7:25 p.m. Georgina Crown broke my resistance asunder (an April presentation).I'll bed at 8:30 p.m.
Considering that I had been out drinking beer the evening before (with my old friend William Alan Gill, and my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther), and was not to bed until about 2:45 a.m., I wasn't complaining about ill effects from having been doing so. It was primarily the cold virus that had claimed me a few days before that was bringing me down.
Art Smith was an older friend of mine ─ he was in his early 40s, and loved his drink. He lived in a home he was renting, maybe eight blocks or so from my room. He was married, and had three kids ─ I adored his affectionate middle child, a sweetheart nicknamed Dee Dee (Angela was her actual name). His oldest daughter was sweet enough in her own way, too, but ─ being older ─ she was more reserved.
I was deliberately being guarded concerning Georgina Crown. What I wasn't saying was that she was a model in an April 1976 Penthouse magazine, and my idle solitude had gotten the better of me.
I should have gone to visit Art, perhaps. However, that might well have led to another late evening, and I certainly didn't need to be running myself down any more than I had already done.
So I spent the day alone, never speaking a word to a soul.
So what's changed? It is 6:51 p.m. at this moment, and that is how I have spent today thus far. However, very soon my younger brother Mark will be home from the bar to watch some T.V. before getting himself to bed, so I will at least have whatever company he will prove to be.