Late Night Journal

I was looking at old photos, just the last seven years, since Gilbert was born. He’s having an eye out next week. Glaucoma.  They say it’s genetic but I can’t help but blame myself.  The sins of the fathers.  It’s not rational, not even intuitive. Just emotional  I promised to protect him. My last dog was killed by a drug addict.  I cried when my cat was hit by a car.  I’ve learned to live with loss. Patients have died over the year. First the old men, then others, and later the young addicts.  I had so many nightmares but now I dream of parents and the sea. I dream of lovely dreams. Meetings in big rooms. Old women who are kindly. Young women who are beautiful.  Capable men.  I’m often on a sailboat or looking through a many roomed house.  I wake and think of Dr. Carl Jung.
I pray when I wake.  It’s been tedious.  Tiresome. I’ve had so much to do and so many details to maintain with this later unplanned move.  Now I’m spread out in clinics.  So many many new patients and I think of the university and government jobs where the same old same old, the fear of the unknown.  The rapid learning curve.  So many numbers now.  I’ve known tens of thousands and it’s more and more a curiosity.
Tonight looking at old pictures I’m reminded of weekends of sailing or camping, trips to Greece and Moscow.  I’ve liked most the people.  A few are consistent. And these last 7 years there’s always Gilbert.  It’s microscopes and telescoped when I look at it thus.  The movie of the dolphins was reminiscent of the first dolphins I saw off the GIRI bow 25 years ago.
Now I’m writing still.  I costume. I have many facets. Clothing for work, for winter, spring, summer, for sailing, hunting, fishing, swimming, play.  I have grown fatter over the years. I was very slim in one picture where I was scuba diving.  It was something to aim for again. I must return to the exercise. It’s spring. I’ve survived the winter, barely. I could exercise more. Eating less is the difficult task Even tonight I loved the cheese sandwiches on raisin bread. Gilbert and I shared.
The fast boat is gone to Hay Bay today. As Kirk noted I’m down to just a canoe. He didn’t know about that. I’ve used it too little and I’ve a 2.5 hp engine I’ve not used at all.  I am planning to sail the Atlantic.  There’s fewer years for this but not this year. This year I’ve a new truck and want to camp and fish and hunt.  I like the BC wilderness.  I’ve a desire to spend more time with Gilbert. He likes that best. We were in New York at Christmas.  I’ve had my big city experience. I want to go to India again and Scotland and Jerusalem. My favourite conference is in New Delhi not next year but the next.  I ‘d like to go to Goa and Kerala where St. Thomas was. I’ve a desire to go to Ethiopia too and visit the coptic churches.
There’s so much work too. I’ve got to pay the bills.  I’m juggling between health and aging and costs.  I wanted to write.  I wanted to sit outside in cafe’s and drink coffee and journal.  That’s what I enjoy.
Even this late night blogging has appeal to me.
But it’s like pictures.  Personal.
I am looking forward to death. I don’t want it to come soon. There’s so much I yet want to do.  I question if I’m best using my time and resources.  I’ve done my duty. I’ve served my time. I’ve a whole lot of idea that this government has shat on. Things like service and responsibility and caring and all those values of Canadianism or even Christianity are ridiculed by the Trudeau set, a fat elite of silliness.
It’s the next generations issue. They can deal with their own sociopaths and psychopaths.  The sharia law contention and communism are arisen.  I regret being liberal. I enjoyed the time but today my karma is to see the birds come home to roost.  Sad creatures.  I’ve regrets but no praise no blame no regrets. I did the best I could with what I had.
I have identified with the aggressor.
I’ve returned to my roots. I’m socialized differently.  I was caned and hammered.  I had a harsh beginning, the gifted child.  Demands and frustrations.  I may have peaked at 12 as my aunt said. But these are glory days as well. I’ve been so blessed. So much to be thankful for.
Even Gilbert. What a little character. My father called him “monkey dog’.  He’s a fixture in my life.  Right now sleeping.  I’ve put drops in his eyes three times a day or more for a couple of months. Surgery Tuesday.
I loved Bard on the Beach with Laura.
It will be strange to be camping again.  A tent and living out doors with the dirt and gravel floor, picnic table.  Sky for roof.  Sunshine for light.  I look forward to canning.
I’ve been meditating. It’s a discipline.  It’s meditate or do sit ups. I’d rather meditate.  I’m work up to both.  Reading novels and watching NCIS.  I said, I servived the winter. My brother died in the fall.  George died and I go to his celebration of life tomorrow.  A friend in hospital. Richard shot himself dead. Another friend relapsed.  Meanwhile we’re on the verge of civil war with the communism of the UN and the radical Islam invasion. The communists always think they can win a revolution. Let others do the heavy lifting. Then they assassinate the opposition and move in their committee dictatorship.  Atheists are more organized and cold blooded that the Shiite Sunni fighting passionates.
I’m watching with thankfulness the Trump Pearce America brand assert itself.  Trudeau only has the lie of climate change and the dope solution with euthanasia and has bought into Agenda 21 UN.  I can’t wait till they’re gone.  Quebec corruption.
It’s late. I’m backing up my computer. A little housekeeping.
I’ll watch some tv.  Read my book.  Maybe just go to bed and leave this machine to do its own thing.  There’s no originality in the journal