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Thursday, February 1, 2018

Another Crippling Night's Sleep

This has been such a disappointing day, beginning with an atrocious night's sleep. It seems so unfair, for I was in bed no later than 11:11 p.m.

The main cause seemed to be extensive nasal congestion that impaired my breathing ─ congestion deep within the nasal cavity.

Who invented those ludicrous nasal strips? If my nasal congestion was merely just behind my nostrils, I wouldn't consider myself to have much of a problem.

It is when the chambers or sinuses of the nasal passages are themselves apparently involved in the congestion that one has a serious problem.

But I am fine during the day. It is only when I lie down that the congestion commences.

Enough of that, however. I haven't the time. Suffice to say that I rose at 5:30 a.m. after very little effectual sleep. As often happens, my body felt sorely brutalized, so remaining in bed was not in the least appealing.

Yet I rose looking well forward to the nap I knew that I would later enjoy despite how unpleasant it was to be in bed at the end of my tortured night.

I worked on the edit of an old post I have been toiling at for the past few days on one of my six hosted websites ─ Siam-Longings. I had hoped to get out today for a shopping expedition, but that was clearly unlikely, despite the lovely dank day out there.

I held off on the return to bed until I had put in more work on the post than I really felt I had to...and then I made a stupid choice to back out of the work in order to check a plug-in, and half of my work was lost.

I tried several recovery attempts, but it was gone without a trace.

Half of my morning's work ─ for nothing. I could have returned to bed so much earlier, and maybe achieved something with my day.

And so it was 10:25 a.m. when I was back in bed, and I managed to spend just over two hours there.

I did not have the spirit in me to go anywhere today at that point, but at least I did soon enough get out to the backyard tool shed for some exercise there. I am still falling short on the pull-ups, though.

When I came back into the house afterward, I weighed myself exactly as I was dressed when I was exercising: 192 pounds at a height of five feet and 10¾ inches.

It probably shouldn't discourage me too much that such a bodyweight is so strenuous to work with at my age (68 years).

I wasted my day. It was too much to compensate for after such a bad night's sleep, and such a disastrous morning's labours at Siam-Longings. That which was lost is irretrievable ─ it is not as if I can hunt it up again in the Web and resupply it, for I do not now know just what it was that is now lost.

Yes, a bad day.

And I never even commenced this post until well after 5:00 p.m., so I cannot spend much time with it.

Because of that dearth of time available to me, I am not going to explain what my wife Jack and her two sons are doing over in ─ possibly Bali ─ Indonesia.

I will just post the latest batch of images that I selected from Jack's most recent Facebook posts, and which I enlarged for my own use.

This first one shows Jack with her mother in the left background, as well as Jack's nephew Mark and his wife at the right



Here are three images of the main group of her family enjoying a meal ─ Mark's wife looks rather fetching in these shots. Also in the three photos are Jack's oldest son Tho (aged 23) at the far end of the table, and her youngest son Poté (aged 20) nearest at the right and beside his mother:




This next set of four photos captures the group enjoying some drinks somewhere. Jack and oldest son Tho are at the left; and at the right are Mark and his wife, and Jack's youngest son Poté seated beyond them (somehow the seating is entirely reversed in the second pair of photos):





Jack enjoying the pool:


Three selfies that Jack took with just her mother:




Two photos of Jack and her mother, plus Jack's two boys (Poté at the left, Tho at the right):



Here are four photos of Poté and his cousin Mark with their grandmother:





It looks like Jack experienced some rain:


Finally, here she is enjoying what must be a buffet:


With that final image posted, I took a break and ate the bulk of my supper (it is now 6:35 p.m.).

I am hoping that because I tend to eat at 8:00 p.m., having an earlier feeding may undo whatever causes my nighttime ills after getting to bed.

A day such as today serves to reinforce the nebulous plan I keep nurturing of making my 69th birthday my last birthday, and pulling the plug during that year prior to any 70th birthday milestone.

I am so painfully weary of worrying each and every month about somehow getting the monthly mortgage paid, and just making do with whatever little I can to try and lessen the inevitable shortfall in my chequing account when the mortgage becomes due.

I never worked to a retirement so that this misery could be my life in my final years. But if it is to be so, then I might as well make those years as few as possible.

My younger brother Mark will be home from the bar at any time now, so I am going to close with this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting it in a private home located on Ninth Street, and two houses up from Third Avenue.

In store for me this day was a hike out to the home of my mother Irene Dorosh ─ she and her husband Alex were living in a little house in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

That little home no longer exists, but it was my main mailing address: 12106 - 90th Avenue.
TUESDAY, February 1, 1977

I arose just past 4:00 a.m.

I don't know if I can bear the entire trip, but I'll try to make the Newton / Sandell [128th Street] circuit to mom's, leaving here at 4:40 a.m.

*****

I was at a real low. I only got as far as Queen Elizabeth High School before my lack of interest and energy obliged me to cut through, and using back roads, make my way to 90th Ave.

My only mail was a credited pouch of Western Express [Lottery] tickets (Deb. 21) from St. Joseph's School.

I gorged, even though my bodyweight is still a pound or 2 over 190.

Guessing, around 10:00 a.m. I laid [sic] down, arising c. 12:30 p.m. when I heard Mark.

Mom talked him into coming over Thursday to take her bowling. Anyway, I left with him. 

He picked up the Vega manual, and while he was mailing it and buying me a $1 money order, I went to Buy Low and spent $2.60. 

Mark said Chris & Melody dropped by yesterday for 15 minutes or so, using the phone.

Too, Mark was mad cause sloppy Bill used his razor last night.

After Mark went to work, I completed a phony work search list for U.I. tomorrow.

I trimmed down ─ styled ─ my beard before heading home in a fair fog.

Bed: 12:48 a.m.
Mark was working an afternoon / evening shift at the mill that employed him, so I remained at his suite and walked back to my room late in the evening.

I had been there the evening before, too ─ I had come to Mark's duplex unit after he had already left for work, so I actually never saw him that day.

Mark was renting his duplex suite in a building located a fairly short distance along Semiahmoo Road from where it attaches to Old Yale Road.

My old friend William Alan Gill had come by that prior evening, but I never mentioned anything in my journal about Bill taking a shave with Mark's razor.

Chris was a mill co-worker of Mark; Melody St. Jean was my ex-girlfriend. I broke up with her when she began messing around with Chris.

In my hurt and jealousy, there came a worst point one evening when I barely held myself from pulling him from his fancy pickup truck and beating him to death.

But by this time in 1977, I had long accepted their pairing.

The Vega manual was getting mailed away to Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ she and Mark had broken up at the end of the previous September after about three years together, and she was living out of province at this point. She had phoned long-distance the evening before when Mark was at work, and I very much enjoyed our conversation.

I loved the girl and her two daughters.

When she and Mark split, she kept the Vega they owned and used it to drive away.

I had an appointment at the department of Manpower and Immigration coming up the next day that was designed to determine if I still merited collection of Unemployment Insurance benefits ─ I had been told to bring along my full work search history from when my benefits had begun (the previous August or September, maybe).

I had kept no such records.

And now I was faced with creating one that was a blend of fiction and truth.

But I want to say something concerning my old journal entries.

If I keep posting the latest entry from exactly 41 years earlier, I am unlikely to live long enough to reach the journal's finish, for it extended well into the 1990s.

If ever I do get to the end of that journal, it will be as a result of some manner of financial miracle.
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