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After Pop left to go to Kay's place and I finished my steak lunch, I brought the laptop to my room and exhausted three hours in Motherless's pornucopia. Three hours. My whole afternoon reading session. I'm a little worried about irreparably damaging my dick. It is such an abused little thing, I marvel that it hasn't fallen off by now. I think I am going to try to take a week off of it and stay away from porn.
Feb. 4th, 2016
Europe continues to struggle against the strains of the massive influx of immigrants from Syria, as white supremacists and ultra-Christians flex their muscles. The grand dream of making a kind of United States of Europe never seemed more airy and naive, at least not since the end of the Cold War. The Italian Prime Minister Matteo Renzi laments, “This is not Europe. This is a nightmare!” It can feel like the whole world is cracking up. Or is that just my life?
[Source: New York Times]
[Source: New York Times]
Windows and Sleep
Feb. 4th, 2016 11:19 pmGoing into Pop's room, near the end of my day, to retrieve the cordless phone and make sure the lights are off and the windows are shut, I pause and shake my head over the brown curtains that were hung up this week. For Pop, as it was for mother, as well as Jack by the way, windows are a fault. All the windows may as well be bricked up, lest a ray of sunlight break into our domestic stagnancy. It will now be too difficult for me to go to the trouble of opening his window to air his room out, as I was sometimes wont to do when I had the house to myself.
In this, as in much else, I am the opposite. I want more reading rooms, and more outdoor scenery to gaze upon during my reading breaks. For instance in the unlived living room, just about the whole back wall is made of window glass. The windows are never opened. It is all blocked up with curtains that cannot be conveniently opened, and there is furniture blocking the would-be openings anyway. If I had my druthers, there would not be a single curtain up, nor any blinds. The furniture would not be there either. It seems wonderful to me that there should be a wall of glass and windows. Our back yard, it is true, does not exactly provide a scenic view, but it is definitely lovelier than that wall of dark curtains. Air and light, air and light! But I am the only one who sees it that way, and so I must live with that ugly wall of filthy curtains, all these years.
Nevertheless, as I left Pop's bedroom and shut the door, I realized why Pop wanted these dark curtains. It is now his firm routine to sleep and doze until eleven or twelve in the afternoon, and so he wants the room to be darker and to better mimic the night through the morning and into the noon. I used to hope that, in his old age, Pop would transition into a more normal sleep pattern, and maybe start going to bed at, say, eleven, but, no, even at 74, he continues to stay up until three in the morning. And he is simply running with it, working with it, darkening up his room for better daytime dozing.
At least this carries the unintended benefit of making my mornings sweeter, as it can feel as though I have the house to myself during all that time that he is shut away in his room. It is very quiet on my side of the house. Besides, I am more concerned about falling into his quirky nocturnal pattern. Too often, these days, it can feel like I might as well stay up till three in the morning myself, because I am only tossing and turning in bed until around that time anyway. I am not happy about it, but Pop is probably right: you cannot really fight it and should just make the best of it.
In this, as in much else, I am the opposite. I want more reading rooms, and more outdoor scenery to gaze upon during my reading breaks. For instance in the unlived living room, just about the whole back wall is made of window glass. The windows are never opened. It is all blocked up with curtains that cannot be conveniently opened, and there is furniture blocking the would-be openings anyway. If I had my druthers, there would not be a single curtain up, nor any blinds. The furniture would not be there either. It seems wonderful to me that there should be a wall of glass and windows. Our back yard, it is true, does not exactly provide a scenic view, but it is definitely lovelier than that wall of dark curtains. Air and light, air and light! But I am the only one who sees it that way, and so I must live with that ugly wall of filthy curtains, all these years.
Nevertheless, as I left Pop's bedroom and shut the door, I realized why Pop wanted these dark curtains. It is now his firm routine to sleep and doze until eleven or twelve in the afternoon, and so he wants the room to be darker and to better mimic the night through the morning and into the noon. I used to hope that, in his old age, Pop would transition into a more normal sleep pattern, and maybe start going to bed at, say, eleven, but, no, even at 74, he continues to stay up until three in the morning. And he is simply running with it, working with it, darkening up his room for better daytime dozing.
At least this carries the unintended benefit of making my mornings sweeter, as it can feel as though I have the house to myself during all that time that he is shut away in his room. It is very quiet on my side of the house. Besides, I am more concerned about falling into his quirky nocturnal pattern. Too often, these days, it can feel like I might as well stay up till three in the morning myself, because I am only tossing and turning in bed until around that time anyway. I am not happy about it, but Pop is probably right: you cannot really fight it and should just make the best of it.