Sleepless nights

I appear to have lost the ability to go to sleep.  It's like losing a key; I have no idea where it is.  I rack my brain but can't find it. 

  I go to bed, but sleep does not happen.  I feel like Macbeth, or is it Lady Macbeth,  but without the guilty conscience.  On some occasions, I do finally nod off, waking in the morning to find I have migrated to some hitherto unvisited part of the bed with sheets and blankets tangled around me.  But lately, even this has eluded me.

  So I lie there, trying to think of something, anything, to divert my mind and coax it to release me.

  Sometimes I get up and have breakfast and then sneak back to bed.  This sometimes fools my sub  conscious for a time, not always. Or I move to another bed.  I open the window.  I close the window.  I turn on the ceiling fan; it get too cold; I turn it off.  I turn on the electric blanket.  Then I turn it off again. I go downstairs, lie on the couch, and turn on the television.  My feet get cold.  Alternatively, I feel hot all over.  Neither condition lasts.

  I am wide awake, and alert enough to do my income tax.  But I don't want to do my income tax.  I want to sleep.  I want to knit  up the ragged sleave of care.

Evil machines

It is an established fact that mechanical devices are malevolent; I have proved that electronic devices are also imbued with evil intent.

Take, for instance, my GPS.  It was working okay, until Thursday night, when it was invaded by an evil spirit.  I had found my way to an area I was not familiar with, and was now headed home.  I turned on the GPS and programmed it to go home.  It led me out to the wilds of Pennsylvania, places which have never heard of street signs or lights.  From there it led me to Winterthur, three times.
Needless to say, I do not live at Winterthur.  Yet I went around Winterthur three times.

  It then directed me down a one-way lane, unlighted and creepy, and from there ordered me to turn at Dairy Barn Rd.  I refused to do so.

  I finally recognized my surroundings and found my way home without help from the GPS.  No one can ever persuade me that that device did not intend to do me harm.  Once lured down Dairy Barn Rd I most likely would never be seen again!  I'm sure of it!

Customer service

There isn't any.

Try calling Verizon, with which I have a hideously expensive account, to ask them to move the cable from one location to another in your house, and see where it gets you.  Clearly, the company has never heard of such a ridiculous request.  Verizon customers should leave their equipment where it was originally installed..  Or move to another house, if necessary.  End of discussion.

  Now suppose you are an. airbnb host.  Someone has sent you a message requesting the use of your house for a certain date.  You reply with an enthusiastic afirmative message.  Airbnb cannot forward your message except on their app, which has no link for sending messages.  Try the website.  It will notify you of wonderful venues where you can stay.  Anywhere in the world.  You could probably book a room on top of an active volcano in the remotest Godforsaken venue.  But there is no way to send a message to a potential guest.  Call the phone number provided for customer service.  Leave your number and they promise to call you back.  That is a lie.  They won't.

  End of rant.

Advice to mystery writers

In many mysteries I have read over the years, the villain makes a fatal mistake.  Having captured the hero (or heroine) and rendered him or her defenseless, he (or she) takes a much needed respite.  He decides to leave the victim where he is for the time being and go get some food, or take the dog for a walk, or any of a number of things that need doing.  He can always come back and murder her later.

  This is foolhardy.  The victim is bound to find a coat hanger or something and free herself.  You can make book on it.  In any room, no matter how little furnished, there is something that can be fashioned into a weapon in less than 10 minutes.

  In your absence, he (or she) will take a curtain rod from the window and fashion a lethal weapon out of it, a weapon with which she (say a 130 lb woman,) will subdue you, even though you're a 250 lb football player.  She will then take the discarded curtain and tear it in strips, which she will bind you with, before calling the police with your mobile phone.

The moral of this story is, Don't procrastinate.  Or as Lady Macbeth put "If 'twere done ,when 'twere done, 'tis best done quickly."  Or words to that effect.

What's the name of the new Communications director who just got fired?

This new guy, the new communications director who came and went like Haley's comet, is it worth my time for me to figure out his name?  He came on like someone from the Sopranos, only lower class.  What was his starting salary anyway?

  I'm  jealous.  In a just world, I too would get hired for a job I'm incompetent to fill, but with an inflated salary. I'm open to any reasonable offer.  An unreasonable one would also find me willing if the money was enough.

  During my last session of gainful employment, I had to cope with the public, politicians, and vicious Board members.  (You know who you are, Ed R, you slimeball.)  And all this for a meager paycheck.  Unfair..

What's wrong about being Myzled?

People have been having great fun at the expense of Debbie Wasserman Schulz because she mispronounced the word misled--pronounced misled.  Like this; miss led.  Just think of it as one of the contestants in Donald Trump's beauty pageants, like Miss Hospitality.  If there were a venue called Led, she would be Miss Led.  (It's in the Balkans, perhaps.)

  She actually pronounced it Myzled, with a long I in the first syllable.  Like this;  My- zled.  I totally sympathize.  Having read the word in books, but never heard it in conversation, I too was myzled.  I've been myzled  for a whole year, not to mention bewitched, bothered and bewildered.

  I think mysled is a fine word.  It sounds more important than misled, with an extra dollop of outrage.  You keep up the good work, Debbie.  Don't be mysled by your IT guys.  Or anything else they throw at you.

Odds and ends

Who had the good idea to appoint a special prosecutor?  I can't remember.  Now he's like an advanced case of cancer--can't get rid of him.

  The idea seems to be, if enough people say mean things about Trump, his feelings will be hurt and he'll resign.  Then we will get free health care, free college, free birth control and a bunch of tee-shirts with cute sayings on them.  No more mortgage payments!  No more rent!  Free food without GMOs.  Everybody will be in a union, whether they want to or not.  Nobody's feet will hurt!  No more bad hair days!

  I'm willing to bet my feet will still hurt, whoever's president.

Believing six impossible things before breakfast

What universe am I living in, where the President appoints a special person, a Grznd Guignol kind of guy, to investigate his doings? Why doesn't he just tough it out, as Bill Clinton did when his lying caught up with him. He said he was just going to do "Ma job." and by golly they left him to it. I don't believe any of this about Russia and furthermore I don't care. It's all over my head. Who cares about this stuff? You would have to be obsessed with getting the Donald as I believe they got Al Capone. Just keep looking through his life, his history, his associates and you will be sure to find something, as Patrick Fitzgerald did with Scooter Libby. You can dig up dirt on anyone, if you dig long enough.

I have great hopes for the movie "Dunkirk"

Going to see it tomorrow God Willing and the creek don't rise. I told a friend what it was about and she said, "How do you know this?"

I thought everyone knew about Dunkirk, like everyone knows about Gettysburg. Doesn't everyone?

Anyway, I love anything about WWII. Or the Civil War. I got that way from typing Mr Charm's essays and term papers. He majored in British History, but the Civil War was his passion.

A lousy movie

I went to see "Hero" with Sam Elliot at what passes for an experimental film venue in Wilmington. I strongly recommend that everyone make a point of skipping this movie. Sam Elliot is being promoted in this film as a serious actor. The filmmaker obviously thinks he is an attractive person, and trains the camera on him for hours--well, it seems like hours--as he pensively smokes a marijuana cigarette. Or stares gloomily at the incoming waves on a beach. He does have his virtues: slim and trim, with lovely wavy grey hair, an interesting voice. He also does not mug or overact. In fact, he hardly acts at al; he is all but comatose. It is creepy to see the camera lovingly focusing on him. I don't remember seeing this sort of thing in films about men, only those featuring beautiful young women like Liz Taylor or Audrey Hepburn. Sam Elliot is neither beautiful nor young. Nor interesting. Another annoying thing about the film is that everybody speaks very slowly, all the time. The whole thing could have been completed in 45 minutes, if it had gone at a normal pace. Miss it, you'll be glad you did.

Drifting away from sanity

During the past few months I have been plagued by insomnia. I tried to ride it out, but nothing solved the problem. Even sleeping pills just made me groggy. I truly cannot sleep four or five nights out of seven. It's making me crazy.

I decided to just ride it out, I figured eventually I will get tired enough to sleep naturally. Last night was a totally sleepless one, so I got up at 5 o'clock and tried to get something done. I resisted the desire to go back to bed, but went to the gym instead, doing my usual routine, but sluggishly. I was very tired when I got home, and my feet and legs were tired, so I lay down on the couch with a book. (Sometimes when I elevate my feet it relieves the tiredness. I'm a great believer in elevating the feet.)

I could feel myself drifting off, even though the air was hot and still. I woke up completely disoriented. I only knew I had been asleep a long time. My watch told me it was 5:30, but whether in the morning or the evening I could not tell. I looked at my phone and found it was still Tuesday. I was relieved. (I think.) Maybe not.

I could not help remembering a time, long ago, when I never knew what time it was. I was maybe 13. My family had just moved into a new house, my parents were separated, the house was horribly hot. I stayed up late, very late. I would be reading. Two o'clock would come, then three, and I would tell myself to go to sleep, but I wouldn't. I was reading P G Wodehouse at the time, I remember. I would wake up at 2 or three in the afternoon, feeling completely adrift from the society around me. It was unpleasant. More than that, it was frightening. I felt so separated from everyday life, unmoored from the ordinary life of ordinary people. Nowhere to be, nowhere to go. It was like being dead, but still alive.

Computer problems

So I wanted to order my medication over the phone, using Humana's automated service. I put in the prescription number. then was asked for my birthdate. I gave them the only birthdate I have, but the computer did not recognize it. So what to do? I am stumped. I can't change my date of birth, much as I would like to.

Blogger is driving me crazy

Yes, Blogger is cheap. In fact it is free, the very best kind of cheap. Otherwise, no-one would use it. It's a very clumsy tool. For instance, since I haven't been blogging, I forgot that, even though I put page breaks in, Blogger does not recognize them. They print all my stuff in one block of text--the print equivalent of a speech by the late lamented (but not by me) Fidel Castro.

By the way, for those who want to impeach Donald Trump: Getting rid of Trump doesn't mean that Hillary would be president. That's not how it works. Mike Pence would become President. I hope you all like him. He probably would not employ his son-in-law, and it's a sure thing that Melania is prettier than Mrs Pence.

Damn upset

I was expecting my airbnb guest today, but he stood me up. Admittedly, I was of two minds about having a stranger in my house, but now that he does not want to come I am desolate. I cleaned the house as though expecting an inspection by my most censorious aunt, a woman who has been dead for 20 years. I know this attitude on my part is unreasonable. I am fully aware of the stupidity of it. The feeling is strong though.

I am trying to get back to my usually scintillating self, but it's hard to get back on track. Bear with me please.

One pleasant development--I am glad to hear from my old blogfriends. Being surrounded here by incendiary Democrats, I am afraid to open my mouth lest I become a social leper. One Facebook friend expressed her annoyance with readers who commented only on personal matters but failed to respond to her political rants. Apparently it is not enough to live and let live, to agree to disagree, to withhold commenting on matters about which we disagree; she wanted full-throated agreement or nothing. Nothing is what she got, from me. Since I refused to join the Trump Assassination Club, I was persona non grata. Tough. I can live with that. But I like to know that out there in the Internet, there are people who agree with me!.

I'm starting a new career as an airbnb host

I put up the pictures, very poor ones to be sure, but someone is already coming on Monday!

Distracted by facebook

I admit it--I was distracted by Facebook. But I got burned out. Facebook can actually be very dull. Having seen countless Facebook videos of people's cats doing clever things, I have decided to swear off them. Unless you can train your cat to cook and serve a flawless dinner for 8 and then clean up the mess, I'm not interested. Or maybe she could knit a sweater or even a scarf. I will still watch videos of small children or dogs doing something cute. But it has to be really cute. I also like to see your grandchildren. i'm tired now. More tomorrow.

Back in business

I decided that since I am never going to be free of the Mysterious Ailment, to continue with my life as if I were normal and just avoid falling down. At this point, I am more or less normal except I don't take long walks without my walker. I bring it along because I have broken my nose. The break is not visible to the outer eye, but I do have two gouges, one under each eye, which the dermatologist says he can't fix, the result of collateral damage in the form of black eyes. However, I have been tested every which way and you would be surprised at how many diseases have been ruled out. I'm feeling quite healthy. Sort of. This is a notice that I am going to be just as annoying as ever. I am going to stay away from politics, though. The stuff that goes on every day is beyond satire unless you are Jonathan Swift. And I'm not. Just a humble blogger, thank you.

Who do you think won the debate?

I only watched a little of it. The consensus seems to be that Hillary won it, according to reports from the professional thinkers on television today. Frankly, I was gobsmacked when Hillary came to the mic, wearing what at first glance appeared to be a union suit; long red underwear such as you used to see in cartoons about hicks in the sticks, with a rear seat that comes down for sanitary purposes. But it was just one of her lamentable* pantsuits, possibly picked up during her stay in Arkansas. Or maybe it belonged to Bill. The woman has no fashion sense whatever, unlike Princess Diana, who had fashion sense but no other sense to speak of. She was like a paper doll--but at least you enjoyed looking at her. I am also sick of Hillary's voice. Did she always sound like the village scold? Trump is almost unintelligible. One suspects a brain is in there somewhere. Some of the stuff he says makes sense, but you have to work hard to figure it out. We need a new amendment to the Constitution barring people over 60 from running for office. *I should have said deplorable. Sorry.

Back and better than ever

This blog was hijacked for quite a while, but my computer expert sorted it out, so I am back to expressing myself, sort of.

I have been busy trying to renegotiate my mortgage while co-signing for a new car for  a relative.  Never do these two things together--it's like mixing chlorine with ammonia, which I understand is  toxic.  Actually it's more like trying to stand on your head while painting your toenails.  It can be done, but at a great cost to sanity.

I also am coping with a super sinus infection and other major or minor infirmities.  But I've always been a person who didn't know how to quit, and that hasn't changed.

Watch this space.  I'm open for business. 

Being sick

I have been feeling a little down for a while, but I ignored it.  Yesterday I felt that I was in imminent danger of dying.  All systems were shutting down.  I was coughing and sneezing, my head was stuffed up, I could not remember how to add, subtract, multiply of divide.  So either the grim reaper was coming for me or I had a galloping case of Alzheimer's.  To make matters worse, I was choking on a piece of raw cauliflower.  What an ignominious death that would be!  To choke to death on a humble vegetable!

The doctor did not agree that i was dying.  He thought I had a sinus infection, and prescribed some generic antibiotic.  After one day on this medicine, I feel better, although my mathematical skills are still shaky--but that might be because I am trying to do my income tax.

What a miracle!  What did doctors do for patients before antibiotics were discovered?