"Time Wasted, Lost, Is Time Regretted: The Ordering And Passing Of Our Days"

 

“Time Wasted, Lost, Is Time Regretted: The Ordering And Passing Of Our Days”

 

 

09/14/12

 

To my very dearest friends, and stalwart, loyal readers,

 

All of us are—of course—ruefully familiar with the annual, posted lists of how much time we actually spend on a number of typical, human activities.

 

By now, everyone knows that, in sleeping eight hours each night, we use up about 121 days each year, or…a third of our lives!

 

And, if the average adult heart beats eighty times a minute, over the course of a year it will have done so some 3,839,800 times.

 

In the beginning, infants need only differentiate between cycles of light and dark, and when its time to be fed!

 

Even in Kindergarten, well-before we are able to understand ‘clock’ time, still, we are well-introduced to the various vagaries of time; from the first ringing of the school bell, to times for activities, naps, lunch, and—again—when it is time to go home.

By the time we have become adults, living in an adult world, too often we find ourselves very much aware of the clock, and of time passing.  Sometimes we even feel that we are chained to clock time, finding so much of our lives segmented into regularly occurring events that mark the passing of our days.

 

It is known—for example—that working eight hours a day for fifty weeks (taking out time for vacations!) roughly equals 107 days a year.

 

It then would reasonably follow that, if you sleep eight hours a day, and work another eight hours a day (not counting Saturdays or Sundays), nearly 228 days of any given year are used up.  That represents almost a third of our working, adult lives.

 

With the majority of our time given over to any number of normal, daily pursuits, is it any wonder why we often feel oppressed by the clock, chained to it, unable to escape, and to feel that we subsequently never have enough ‘time’ for our friends, our families, our selves, or, our souls?

 

How often do we repeatedly look at clocks around us, the watches on our wrists, or the time indicator on our computers? And, how often do we do so with a growing impatience, irked that time is either passing to rapidly, or, not nearly rapidly enough?

 

We give so much of ourselves—and our time—away in carrying out tasks, obligations, or needed chores, again, attendant upon living in an adult world.

 

Most of us are, regrettably, too caught up in the machineries of daily living, that we give scarce thought to time that is ‘wasted’ or ‘lost’, either in preparation, or waiting, or in the thousand delays imposed upon us outside our sphere of influence, or quite beyond our desire.

 

To give you an idea of how important dedicated, and ‘lost’ or ‘wasted’ time are, I submit—for your approval—the following calculations, subject, of course, to mathematical error, a scale of how much accumulated time in a year, the duration of these daily activities, and how much they actually impact our lives:

 

Activity Duration        Amount of time yearly

1)           1  sec.                  6 minutes

2)           1  min.                 6 hours

3)           10  mins.              2.5 days

4)           30  mins.              7.5 days

5)           1  hour                  15 days

6)           2  hours                 30 days

7)           8  hours                121.05 days m.o.l.

8)           12 hours                18.25 days

 

 

Granted, some daily activities can be overlapped (for example, one can read while waitinbg for one’s clothes to dry), still, between committed time (that which we knowingly dedicate in task completion), there are seconds, moments, instants of idle, slow, lost or wasted time.

It is therefore quite natural that we all feel ill-used by circumstance that would steal time away from us.  And please remember, while dedicated time may be disagreeable, but acknowleged as necessary to carrying out various aspects of daily life, and the social contract, other loses of time—whether imposed, accidental, or intentional, cause us to feel stressed, over-comitted, confused, angry, or sullen.

 

We want that time back; we insist upon it, even though in reality, we rarely do manage to get a time ‘bonus’.  Such time we would most like to keep for ourselves, either in pursuit of recreation or rest; or, just plain quiet!

 

Now, my dearest friends, to try to give you an idea of just very time-compressed we all have become, I list but some of the many activities of daily living, and—as able—to represent ‘other’ subsequent or consequent issues which cause one to lose time, waste time, or, misuse time.

 

Tasks and time spent daily:             Yearly eqiv.:

1)           Sleeping

2)           Bathing

3)           Dental Hygeine

4)           Meal preparation

5)           Meal consumption

6)           Hr. worked, if employed

7)           Transportation to and from

8)           Delays in above

9)           Homework

10)   Time with family

11)   Laundry prep.

12)   Laundry

13)   Grocery shopping

The above should include transportation time to and from store, time spent shopping, time spent putting groceries away

14)   On-line time

15)   Telephone messages

16)   Text messages

17)   Clothes shopping

18)   House cleaning

19)   Home repair

20)   Getting fuel for car

21)   Auto maintenance

22)   Hair care

23)   Time with pets

24)   Pet care

25)   Doctor’s visits

26)   Waitingroom time

27)   Restaurants

28)   Theaters

29)   Bookstores

30)   Furniture shopping

31)   Nap time

32)   Quiet time

33)   Time with relatives

34)   Time with children

35)   Time with friends

36)   Traffic lights, accidents, detours

37)   Reading

38)   Pursuing education

39)   Studying

40)   Writing

41)   Letters

42)   Pharmacy

43)   Medicine prep.

44)   Hospital E.R.

45)   Hospital stays

46)   Lawn care

47)   Various trips

48)   Vacations

 

Of course, my very dearest friends, some of the items listed above will never occur, piece-meal on a daily basis, but still may be included as percentage of yearly time spend, where applicable.

 

And…as so many lifestyles differ in terms of tasks, dedicated time, and missed time, some will certainly not apply; and I may have forgotten to list and item that may pertain to you.

 

I would kindly ask you to either ‘cut and paste’ the item list, and then fill in the times necessary where applicable, and then total—please—the separate time-spent values to reflect the accumulation of said values upon an average year.

 

In no manner is it my intention to intrude upon personal matters, or events that are not suitable for the public forum.

 

I DO think—upon analyzing time by way of task, and duration—that you will nevertheless be quite surprised to see how you personally allocate time every day, and—in consideration of possible ’wasted’ or ‘lost’ time—how very much, in consequence that it impacts upon already dedicated task time, and how much of each year of our lives they actually consume!

 

It is my fond hope that you may find this entry-- and its requested comments—to be fun, different, interesting, and personally revelatory!

 

And—as always—please, please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Daisy,Doubts,Depression,Doctors,Deprivation,Daydreams,Dalliances,Despair,and,Duracell Batteries"

 

“Daisy, Doubts, Depression, Doctors, Deprivation, Daydreams, Dalliances, Despair, and, Duracell Batteries”

 

 

09/12/12

 

 

To my always, dearest, dearest friends, and ever-constant, kind and loyal readers,

 

Please forgive me, as—once more—various illness, pain, depression, and sorrow over that which I cannot change, has caused me to be isolative, weary, and distant from my computer.

 

Daisy continues to linger on, and—on some days, even—to rally; those these most hoped for episodes are transient, and never last.  I would like to imagine that she is responding well to all the different medications, and, in truth, I do slip her a little more pain medication to make her as comfortable as I can.

 

She was to be seen by the Dr. Wheaston, the, ‘mobile vet’, but to my mind, Daisy’s condition has not evidenced further decline (in fact, last night), I got down to the floor (painfully!), to play with her (on three, difference occasions!), to scratch her ears, and call her ‘good girl’, and other pet names that she seems to respond to.

 

This will doubtlessly sound silly—especially coming from a fifty-eight year old man, on oxygen, to boot—but I have a number of ‘silly’ names I call her: “Daisy my baby”, “Daisy, my buddy and my pal”, “Dais” or “Daister”, “The Daismeister, “Poodle”, “Monkey face”, “Daisy, my little pussycat’, or, “Daisy Dukes B---“ (which gives all of her names, when she in in deep, and darkest trouble!).

 

Or…and I am truly embarrassed to say this, but sometimes I make up little, stupid songs, like children’s nursery rhymes, and sing to her; this she almost always ignores, as—actually, were it done to me—I would too!

 

And, my dearest friends…what is probably, decidedly worse…is that sometimes I talk to her in ‘baby-talk’.  I would die of mortification should anyone ever hear me, but Daisy seems to like it, and—really, friends—frankly, that’s all that really matters.

 

And as the mobile vet can only visit on Wednesdays or Fridays, Daisy’s visit has been moved to the 19^th of this month.

 

For the most part—though it only cause me to be more depressed than usual—I have almost blocked thinking about ‘that time’, and, ‘that decision’.  If you will kindly excuse the awful pun, ‘I might as well be Egyptian, as I am so in ‘De’NILE’ ; funny, wasn’t it?  All I can say is that, presently, any diversion—however inane—is a diversion, nonetheless.

 

I have been in so much searing, and seemingly unending agonies of pain, and depression, that I have had to respond by taking extra, and extra-again, pain medication until my mind feels like cotton, incapable of any ‘deep’ thought; its all I can do to hold on to the coattails of the Present as it unfolds second by second.  The Future only offers in her out-stretched hands the fruit of folly, peril, and destruction.  While the Past—my dearest friends—is a clouded and obscure and distant evil fun house; there is no pleasure in remembering.  Even as I write this to you, the Past seems to be something I should be glad to have escaped from.

 

So…what else is left?  The space between sullen heartbeats, or jagged breaths?  Or the tympany or thrall that happens with every pulse-beat of pounding and immutable pain that slides down neurons like imps from Hell, to strike at the body in a hundred, different places all at once?  What is the weight of a sigh?  Or the height of an atom of despair?  Or, the depth of a single tear?

 

I was seen by my Primary, today; while she is enormously engaging, pleasant to speak with, and, I imagine, as about as understanding as any professional person could be, under the circumstances.

 

As to my pain, it is as if she cannot discern the difference between shooting an arrow, or just throwing it.  And, regarding my agoraphobia, depression, anxiety, she is more than relieved to leave it in the careless oversee of my Therapist.

 

Neither he—nor, anyone else for that matter—can ever plumb the complexities of the mind; imagine turning rapidly, the dial on an A.M. radio, in hopes of finding those three, or four stations whose generated wattage allows them to stand out from the rest in terms of fidelity, and crystal-clarity of sound.

 

More simply…I dare you to try to pick out one or two voices in, say, a Mormon Tabernacle Choir!  Oh, one has brief hints that one voice may emerge above the rest, but it is elusive, and frankly, such individualism is counter-productive to the success of any choir, as all voices should be blended into a harmonious one.

 

Today is September 12^th, and, I am SO broke, to paraphrase a neighbor of mine, “I’m so broke, I can’t even afford to pay attention!”  ANY further expenditure—this month—must of necessity be thrown upon the old charge card; which is, in a way like digging a grave before a person dies. As to say that balances tend to gather, as ‘snowballs-into-avalanches’, due each month, but so self-perpetuating that they will never be paid off in full.

 

“Daydreams” and “Dalliances” I can definitely blame on my dear C.N.A., who helped me with my thrice-weekly shower.

 

Our conversation—as it usually does—turned to our winning the Lottery, and splitting it, as—once a week—I give her two dollars (one, for each of us), to purchase ‘quick picks’.  Of course if we did actually win, she promised she would, “drag my ass, oxygen and all, out of the house”, to race to the State Capitol to collect.

 

What’s fun—in full spite of the gaping realities of poverty and insufficient funds—is to plot what we’d each do with the money.

 

Somehow, it would fuel both our separate escapes: hers, with her two girls, and her mother, to pack up, and kiss “Dodge” good-bye, leaving a petulant and disagreeable husband in the dust.

 

I cautiously believe that my ‘escape’ would be a retrenching and re-fortifying of my situation—here, for the most part—in hiding from the World.  To be more, ‘invisible’ (certainly even, more than ever I am now!), withdrawn, isolative, and protected from the vagaries and follies of Man.

 

But, frankly, my dearest, dearest friends, NO amount of money can truly protect one; if—for example—an asteroid is destined to drop from the sky and obliterate one, it hardly matters if  one is in a seventeen-room mansion, or a double-wide, mobile home.

 

Chaos has a bad habit of influencing even rogue Finality.  The fatality of a ‘slip’ in the tub does not depend in any way whether the tub is gold-plated!

 

And, it was she who—rather excitedly—told me that, with all that extra money, I could successfully go out, meet someone, and begin a relationship, nay…do we even dare mention ‘love’?

 

Friends, this actually makes me laugh, and—frankly—I can use all the humor I can muster.  Honestly, I cannot even, at present, drive to buy my own groceries. If the grocery store did not deliver, or my neighbor move away, or, ‘Elder Services’ close their doors, I would probably—maybe—starve to death.

 

I can almost see myself all pretty and clean, dressed up, with oxygen AND a cane, hobbling anywhere to go out on a date???????????!!!!!  Just how ridiculous a picture does that conjure up?

 

No, my friends, while I will most grudgingly admit that sometimes Cupid will erringly fire a telling arrow at persons in their, ‘Autumn Years’—by the way, a kind reference to anyone clearly headed for the glue factory!—I am perfectly content to let all that bother quite pass me by; it might be the meds., or the mind, or the situation, but—nevertheless, frankly—I am ever so glad I no longer have to either look, or act my best.  Besides, who do I need to impress, when I probably now need a nurse, more than a wife?

 

Actually—in thinking about spending some of my well-earned Lotto dollars—I have been looking at a site wherein antique and ‘just, plain OLD’ cars are offered for sale.  It surely must be some genetically impressed, ‘guy thing’, as—for instance—my dear C.N.A. could not be less interested in, say, a 1938 Packard.

 

I—on the other hand—could see myself duded-up, and ensconced in the back seat, kind of like an uglier, male version of, “Driving Miss Daisy”, as I waved (in the style of a Queen Elizabeth) at the passing villagers, on my way to ‘Burger King’.  You think that that’s small potatoes?  Since I cannot drive myself, or get anyone to go for me (except but rarely, and then with excessive offers to treat)—for me—trying to get to Burger King is an accomplishment equal to one’s riding a raft to Fiji.

 

And finally, in yet another aggravation, the T.E.N.S. unit I purchased not three weeks ago (I think?), completely kicked the bucket this morning. When I telephoned the medical supply company from whom I ordered this contraption, hoping that it might successfully assuage some pain, and thus, lower my dependence on opiate pain medication, I was told that, 1) it was no longer under warranty [gee…THAT was quick!], and, 2) that the battery had gone bad.  “In a month?!”, said I.  Oh yes…that what I really needed was not any, ordinary 9-volt battery, as found in a local pharmacy, namely “C.V.S.”, but—rather—the ‘energizer’, bunny, drum and all.

 

Of course, friends, you already might guess that when I opened the back of the case to look at the battery, there lay—not a “Duracell”, but, the same, common battery as found at C.V.S.  So, frankly, they knowingly loaded my machine with a battery that wasn’t worth shit.

 

And while the ‘proper’ batteries cannot possibly cost that much more, still, I am without use of the dammed thing until I can get someone to go to the store for me. Call me petty should you so choose, but I think that since I am being denied any of the pain-relieving benefits of a unit that cost me $175.00!, the medical supply company should on the wings of flying horses, hurry the hell out here, and replace the T.E.N.S. unit’s battery at once, and, with no additional cost to me. 

 

Oh well, I guess I have—without doubt—rambles on, and on, and on, but to what end?  I STILL have NO idea of what—if anything—to throw-together for supper; preparing for one, and having to eat alone most often proves to be both a chore and a bore.

 

So—once—again, dear Daisy and I will spend—somehow—another somber, and quite unrelieved night.  I could be, I suppose be worse; I could have been twins!  And that’s almost two too many!:)

 

Please know that on this Wednesday evening, as on all the others, that I ever think most fondly of you, my dearest friends, and gentle readers.

And wish you be without pain, or despair, full-surrounded by family and friends who love you.

And that your day has passed fair and pleasant, unto a night that is soft and gentle, remarked by blissful and undisturbed repose; as always, watched over, and kept ever safe by ministering angels!

 

And…as always, please, please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"When A Much-Loved Pet Begins To Fail. Part I of '?'..."

“When a Much-Loved Pet Begins To Fail.  Part I of ‘?’: One Plans For The Present”

 

 

09/09/12

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and always constant, loyal readers,

 

While I may have but briefly made mention of it, for the past several months—now—my dear canine companion, “Daisy”, has, I think, begun to fail, and to witness, must reluctantly, her health decline quite beyond anything that I can possibly do for her.

 

While I cannot turn the clock backwards for either of us, fully as much as I would like to; although I can—with medication—treat her symptoms, and perhaps much lessen her pain, no power on earth can stop the clock, nor prevent the invariable illnesses, and failings that come with advancing age.

 

If you will but kindly refer to my profile here at MDJunction, you will find among the photographs placed there, a couple of Daisy, “The Best Dog On The Planet.”

 

These pictures taken almost four years ago, show a younger, healthier, ‘full-of-life’ Daisy, who now is so very changed, and diminished from those long-ago portraits.

 

Actually, my dearest friends, it has only been within the last six months, that Daisy’s energy and strength have been much changed.

 

Since I do not have a car, nor could I even drive one if I had, I’ve had the ‘mobile’ vet come out to the house in one of those large R.V.s that seem longer than the front of my front yard.  And costs about $347.00 for each visit; this includes examination, any shots daisy needs or medication that Daisy may need.

 

When Daisy last needed her yearly shots, I think the tab came to $457.00, all of which I simply slap on the credit card.

 

In the past, when I have paid a neighbor to drop Daisy off at a local animal hospital ( even if it were for grooming, only ), the neighbor would drop Daisy off early in the morning, and then pick her up at five or six o’clock at night.  When I found out that after Daisy’s visit, while waiting for a ride home, she would be put in a close cage out back in the kennel, to wait, and wait, for hours, until her would be picked up.

 

I decided I did want Daisy to have to wait, stuffed in a cage, without guarantee of food, water, or company.  This I found to be intolerable, and nothing like what I wanted for my dog.

 

And so, dearest friends, I engage now both the mobile vet, and the mobile groomer; in that fashion, the vet and her assistant examine Daisy in her home, and I have seen them sitting on the carpet in the Study, petting, and talking to Daisy; I figured that the examinations—while not—perhaps—as accurate, were still must less of a trail for her, plus I could evaluate their approach to Daisy, and her response to them.  And I have to say that Dr. Wheaston and her associate are wonderfully kind, and caring individuals.

 

And then, any medication that the good doctor might prescribe can be mailed to me, again charged to my credit card.

 

Since May, I believe I have had Dr. Wheaston come out to the house four or five times.  The medication is expensive, too, but…in my heart, I can do nothing less for Daisy, who has been a loving, canine companion—now—for nearly thirteen years.

 

Every morning, and evening, I have to ready Daisy’s medicines, breaking the pills, and capsule up, and adding them ( and the liquid medications ) into a large syringe (without the needle at the end), adding some warm water to help the pills dissolve, and some garlic powder, to help disguise some of the medications nasty, bitter taste.

 

Then, leaving a little air in the syringe, I shake it up to fully integrate the powdered medications into the liquid, and when ready, push the plunger on the syringe to remove any extra air inside.

 

Then comes the battle royalle.  I almost have to sit on Daisy ( as if she were a horse!), to hold her collar, lift her head, and open her mouth with my left hand, as I quickly dispense the contents of the syringe into her mouth, making doubly sure that she is not aspirating any of it.  All the time I am crooning to her, apologizing for hurting her in any way, that the medication will help her, and to swallow, swallow, swallow and not spit up the medications; I tell her over and over again that I love her so much, and would never knowingly hurt her.

 

Of course, she gets it all over her, me, my glasses, and I’ve learned to keep a couple of moist, paper towels to hand, to clean up both dog and man!

 

The very second I let go, she’s off like a rocket, and even as unsteady as she is sometimes, she will bolt to hide in the Study, or back in the bedroom.

 

Immediately after I give her her meds, I follow it up with three of four soft-chew treats (at $9.50 a small bag!), to reward her for taking her medication so admirably, and that ‘Daddy’ still loves her.

 

And…not long thereafter, I will hear her little claws against the laminate floor getting louder, as she finally comes out to where I am, and lies down on the rug near where I am sitting.

 

She also like to lie on her stomach, with right paw curled under her, chin resting on the rug, as she thrashes it back and forth, and wags her tail…typically ‘happy dog’.  Of course, I stop whatever I may be doing to get down on the floor next to her, to scratch her head and ears, calling her all kinds of little pet names.

 

Sometimes, she will roll on her back, lifting up her front paws, so I can scratch her stomach.  She especially loves to be told what a good, good girl she is, and that she’s my buddy and my pal.

 

However…Dr. Wheaston believes that Daisy has an enlarged heart, with a possible mitral valve leak—about which nothing can be done, and some possible fluid retention on the lungs which we are treating prophylactically with Lasix and potassium, and a pill to help regulate her heart beat.

 

Daisy is now quite blind in her left eye from unaddressed cataracts; for as much as I would like to help to possibly restore her vision (and, there is a chance of it developing it in her right eye as well), please forgive me friends, but, the operation to have both eyes done would cost $3,500.00, and, one eye—alone—would cost $2,400.00. I just don’t have that kind of money; $3,500.00 would be more than three and a half months of my S.S.D.I. income!  I’m already—if you will kindly excuse me—‘quite chasing my tail’ with my credit card now.

 

And Daisy has a number of bare areas on her from scratching dry, and itchy skin, being also allergic to fleas, and any number of pollens, grasses, etc. I am giving Daisy medication for her allergies, and have topical, anti-itch, Benadryl cream that I apply to those areas that have become inflamed and reddened; she is also getting Omega-nine fish oil, and garlic to help with her coat, and to help fight the fleas, besides the monthly use of a flea medication.  And Heart guard, given monthly to protect against heart worms.

 

Of course, my dearest friends, what cannot be treated is Daisy’s age, and predisposition to disease, and the humid climate here.  Except for brief forays outside to pee, and etc., Daisy mostly stays inside, in the air-conditioning.  And she now takes more frequent, and longer naps.

 

And because Daisy will NOT go outside if it is raining, or thundering ( well, come to think of it, I avoid it as well !), sometimes then, or during the night if she has to go, she will pee on the floor; I cannot get angry with her for that.  She pees in mostly the same place; when I did have money, and could do some repairs to the house, I purposely had a piece of linoleum inset in the bamboo laminate out in the living room, so it could be her ‘bathroom, should she need it! I also put down several ‘puppy incontinent’ pads which have an attractant to draw Daisy to where they are, and are good until she wets them.  I know when she has done this, as she also gathers the pads up in a pile.  What is funny is that I’ve received a number of compliments on how nice that inset, and framed piece of linoleum looks in the living room…as if it were an intended design element.  Everyone always laughs when I tell them that it is Daisy’s bathroom!

 

It is altogether too ‘gloomy and doomy’ outside, with intermittent thunderstorms making dark and foreboding the sky.  It is definitely a ‘stay in’/’play in’/sleep in’/’eat in’ day.

 

My own pain level—if it can be rated with any fidelity—is hovering somewhere around 6.5 on a 1—10 point scale.

 

Having been ‘medded up’, Daisy is presently asleep on the rug in the Study, where I am currently writing this entry.

 

So far, Dr. Wheaston is scheduled to come out this Wednesday to see Daisy; frankly, I am not a good judge of how Daisy is progressing, or…failing.  Maybe the good doctor will be able with some greater facility to assess Daisy’s health, maybe—though in my heart I absolutely dread it—some kind of at least speculated timetable as to Daisy’s complete failure.

 

About all I can ( or want) to have to consider is that I love my Daisy so very, very much; she’s been a major part of my life for almost thirteen years, and that I would never hurt her, or see her do without.

 

I also know I do not want her to suffer, needlessly, regardless of my dependence upon her as a loving companion, and my absolute, chilling fear of—perhaps—having to make ‘that’ decision.

 

Yet, while it is already breaking my heart to even have to think of this, should it inescapably have to be done, it can be done here, at home where Daisy is comfortable, and where I can sit on the floor beside her, holding her, kissing her, petting, and talking to her as she would be made to gently drift off to a permanent sleep.

 

As you may imagine, I’ve prayed, and prayed—perhaps, asking for miracles, for deliverance, for healing—praying, too, for pain relief, and rest…frankly, for us both.

 

But, friends, every time I let my mind briefly play over what—in fact—may have to be done, I just sit there and cry and cry and cry until my eyes are gluey, and nose is full of crap, and I feel so empty, so completely sad, and alone; and yet—not three feet away from me—Daisy is relaxed, sleeping, quite unaware of ‘Daddy’s great distress.

 

For I have had Daisy with me for so long, I now have difficulty remembering a time when I didn’t have her.

 

Does any of this make any sense?  Am I being overly sentimental, or too selfish?  Do I fear an empty house, and loneliness that much?

 

I look to you, my dearest friends, and loyal readers for your help, your wisdom, your strength, your compassion, and your experiences.  For surely so many of you have pets.  Or have had to make decisions about their care, and well-being.

 

Kindly, please leave your comments, below.

 

I wish for you a quiet—yet wonderful—weekend, in no pain or distress, and in full surrounded by friends and family who love you, and care for you.

 

I wish plenty for you tables, and a safe and comfortable environment.  I wish extra funds for you to be able—should you so want—to go out, but always, to enjoy life.

 

At end of day, I wish for you a dreamy, soft, and warm sense of tiredness.  And, a restorative, and blissful rest, as always kept safe, and surrounded by angels.

 

And please, please know I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles