Well, I have no problem today remembering just when it was that I got to bed the prior night ─ it was almost 3:00 a.m.
I was too benumbed with drink and weariness to achieve the result I was trying to tease out, but it still left me feeling self-loathing for this unseemly conduct.
I need a new environment and an improved lifestyle ─ I need purpose and enrichment. I have none of that.
Despite my bedtime, it was 7:18 a.m. this morning when I decided to peek at the time; it was time to rise for the day.
My youngest step-son Pote was up and alone ─ he must have escorted his girlfriend away earlier, for she had slept with him.
It seems to be a sunny day. I must ensure that I sit out in the backyard and benefit from it.
The bulk of my morning was spent setting up a new post at my Amatsu Okiya website. I'll be fortunate to have it finished and published by Friday.
My wife Jack had said last week that she would probably be coming by today. I wonder if she plans to get here in time to take Pote to work, if he has an afternoon shift? It is 12:08 p.m. as I type these words.
I acquired just over 40 minutes of daylight beginning at 12:21 p.m., sitting in a chair in the backyard, and facing towards the Sun.
Yes, there were cloudy periods, but the clouds were very light.
Pote is still home, so he must not have to work today.
He must have been in communication with his mother, for there are two packages of frozen meat thawing in a big bowl of water ─ Pote and his equally slobby girlfriend have the dual kitchen sinks cluttered up with pots and bowls, so the meat could not be left there without cleaning out one of the sinks.
And why would he do that when his mother is coming home and will have to do it?
In my post of September 12, I recorded how I had mailed off a cheque as a Rogers payment for the couples' cellphone plan that my wife and I share.
I had mailed the payment a few hours ahead of the mailbox's posted mail-collection time of 4:00 p.m.
The bill due date was September 18 ─ we live in Surrey, and the payment only had to be delivered to Vancouver.
Well, the latest Rogers bill has a $2.91 late payment charge ─ the deceitful crooks claim that the bill was not paid until September 21, and they cashed it the following day.
How the hell is it possible for the payment to have arrived on September 21?
I think the buggers received the envelope on time, but it sat somewhere until someone finally got around to processing it on September 21.
If these rotten pricks do this routinely to a certain number of customers each month ─ perhaps rotating it out over a number of months so as not to hit the same customer with a late charge more than a couple or so times a year ─ I have no doubt that a bloody lot of extra illicit revenue is accumulated.
It is also a grand ploy to try and force cheque-mailing customers to sign on for automatic debiting.
As far as I'm concerned, they're rats.
I will have something to say when next I mail off a payment to them.
I would like here to post a fairly old family photo ─ it is a scan I had to make within the photo album where the photo was glued, and rather askew, at that.
The description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the image filed:
This photo was probably taken in 1974 or 1975, and depicts a gal I only knew as Mary.
She was a friend of my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend of the time, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.
Mary was actually half of a couple I always knew as 'Bob & Mary.'
And this was Bob:
I have no idea what my blood-pressure reading supposedly is, so clearly I do not take medication in an effort to lower it.
Even Wikipedia's article lays forth the claim that "normal resting systolic (diastolic) blood pressure in an adult is approximately 120 mmHg (80 mmHg), abbreviated "120/80 mmHg".
Anyone who gets a medical check-up and who has a systolic reading over 120 is warned to make some changes to try and get it lowered.
The systolic pressure is felt when the heart contracts and forces out blood; the diastolic pressure is the effect of the heart relaxing before the next contraction or beat.
For some reason, the diastolic reading gets largely ignored by physicians running the medical check-up.
I've read that we ─ and I'm speaking here of seniors in excess of 60 years of age ─ don't have anything to be concerned about until our blood-pressure reading is over 150/90.
The following is the conclusion of a recent study ominously titled Diastolic Blood Pressure, Subclinical Myocardial Damage, and Cardiac Events : Implications for Blood Pressure Control:
Our results suggested that low DBP [diastolic blood pressure] levels, particularly below 60 mm Hg, might harm the myocardium and are associated with subsequent CHD [coronary heart disease]. However, this phenomenon appears to be most likely in clinical settings where SBP [systolic blood pressure] is ≥120 mm Hg and pulse pressure is higher. Thus, among patients being treated to SBP goals of 140 mm Hg or lower, attention may need to be paid not only to SBP, but also, importantly, to achieved DBP. Diastolic and systolic BP are inextricably linked, and our results highlighted the importance of not ignoring the former and focusing only on the latter, instead emphasizing the need to consider both in the optimal treatment of adults with hypertension.
You can read about the study here:
Other studies are finding that we need a strong blood-pressure as we age ─ dropping it too much with medication can lead to conditions like Alzheimer's disease because the brain is receiving too little nourishing blood.
So now there's the dual risk from this type of medication ─ cardiac damage and Alzheimer's disease. If you are taking such medication, and you know that your blood-pressure is 150/90 or lower, you probably shouldn't be on the stuff.
There is yet another study out which has found that a drink of some form of alcohol each day can lower inflammation (as measured by levels of C-reactive protein) within an ageing body, potentially enabling a senior to be more active and avoid becoming dangerously frail.
Overall, such seniors had less levels of C-reactive protein (and therefore less inflammation) than non-drinking seniors, or seniors who only occasionally had a drink.
But please also note that heavier drinkers did not have reduced C-reactive protein levels, and also tended to be at a high risk of frailty.
Here are a few reports on the study:
I love the image of the 'old timer' in that last reference!
Here is where I close my post with a 41-year-old journal entry from back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.
The small unit was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
I only worked one day a week ─ Friday, as a rule ─ for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today is known as Fraserside Community Services Society.
I was a swamper on their blue pick-up truck.
At the time, S.A.N.E. was located in a building roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon Street.
FRIDAY, September 26, 1975
I got up at 5:00 a.m., recalling a couple dream events.
One was about a guy who had cashed some regular sort of charity cheque, adding so much to a savings section in his wallet. His mother and an old guy then set out to kill him for the cash.
I recall 2 American policemen who stumbled upon some major crime downtown involving a couple buses. An awful shoot-out ensued with all kinds of people taking slugs; seems the cops had large-calibre handguns.
I recall David trying to knife me after he butchered someone else; I got him arrested, as he was really homicidal. For some reason he was left alone in an unmarked small car, and I joined him in talk. His nature had entirely mellowed. He decided with my abetting, I believe, to escape, trying to drive the car but smashing into something in the parking lot. A cop witnessed, and good naturedly in his ignorance backed the vehicle where it was. After he left, so did I; maybe David did too.
I also recall a smorgasbord.
Anyway, I sometime had a NE.
I shall mail a letter to Ron on my way to S.A.N.E.
It seems many people there are following a court case, including Esther, so Bill & I did no work this morn, and were discharged by 11:20 a.m. for lunch.
For the first time I saw that dame at the store (who knew my name) who pestered me at the last S.A.N.E. dance.
I had a heaping helping of delicious Granola for lunch, after buying a TV Guide containing 1976 TV information, knowledge that may come in handy AFTER I WIN SUNDAY'S LOTTERY!
Back at work this sunny day Bill helped me with 1½ of a 3 load moving job, then had to keep a medical appointment; the cute enough girl moving was of immense help.
Esther & Judy next stopped at the Whitespot prior to a trip to Woodlands; on our way again, as we passed the Medical Building Bill called out, and I was glad to have his aid with the 10 bags of clothes at Woodlands.
We were discharged 15 or 20 minutes early.
I came home with an interesting, soft, greenish, flat-topped toque.
Bed at 9:00 p.m.
That was quite the mix of dreams!
David was my old friend Philip David Prince ─ I find it interesting that I dreamed of him attempting to kill me with a knife. Back when we were maybe in our mid-teens out in Surrey, he had impressed me in a negative fashion one night when we were walking 132nd Street between 80th and 72nd Avenues, probably on our way to Unwin Park in Newton.
He had a hunting knife with him.
I forget how it came about, but I made myself to be mock prey and ran as if in sheer hysterical panic, quickly outdistancing him as he loped methodically after me.
Unfortunately, I winded myself and tried to hide in the shadows of someone's doorway, but he found me.
He was very menacing, even though we were in play. But I realized that I was utterly at his mercy, and it was uncomfortable.
I should perhaps here mention that David had been in and out of Essondale/Riverview so many times throughout his teen years that he probably spent half of them committed there.
Amongst my dreaming it seems that I even experienced a nocturnal emission (the "NE" I mentioned).
The letter I mailed on my way to S.A.N.E. was to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal I had.
Esther St. Jean was usually the driver of the pick-up truck I was a swamper on. She was a wonderful lady in her early 40s. My co-swamper at this time was Bill Sevenko, who was probably also middle-aged. Oddly, though, I remember nothing of the man.
I can't now offer anything about the woman at the S.A.N.E. store ─ the woman whom I said had pestered me at a S.A.N.E. dance.
Another thing I do not remember is often coming back to my room for lunch. I am surprised that I had the time to do that.
The TV Guide I bought must have been this Fall Preview:
The S.A.N.E. pick-up truck was frequently used for manageable moving jobs when someone was in need. We had removable wooden sidings for the truck that greatly increased its cargo load.
Riding around with us that day was Esther's beautiful eldest daughter Judy.
I now don't know where the "Medical Building" was, but it must have been where my co-swamper had the medical appointment ─ how timely that we were passing it by just as he was out front following his appointment!
And here it is 3:53 p.m., and my wife Jack has not yet shown up. I am going to proofread this post, and then get it published.
By the way, it briefly rained hereabouts around 3:30 p.m. ─ I could clearly hear it through an open window.