Uncle Mike

Uncle Mike (moms' side of the family) was always my favorite uncle. I had first met him when I was quite young. He was a hermit living in a truly rural area on the Big Island. Moms and I had visited his hermitage for a few days. There was no running water or electricity in the hermit shack. Light was provided by kerosene lanterns. Rain water was stored in a tank outside. And, there was an old-fashioned outhouse with no sewage lines.

Uncle Mike refused to move out of the hermitage even under extreme familial pressure. Eventually, though, he suffered some kind of mental breakdown. He could no longer speak. He somehow found his way to Hilo town and passed a hand-scribbled note to a local shopkeeper requesting help. Long story short, my uncle ended up in the Kane'ohe State Hospital, the only facility for the clinically insane. As I recall, he went through Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT), which is rarely deployed anymore.

Uncle Mike was never the same after the ordeal. He was also a chain smoker of cigarettes. Thus, he ended up succumbing to emphysema. I had previously wrote of Uncle Mike's legacy in the old journal, so I will not belabor the point any further.

Typical Silent Hottie

Now, I find myself having great difficulty in conversing with people. Actually, I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear other people flapping their lips. And, I don't want to hear myself speak. Silence is golden, I keep telling myself. Am I consciously following in the footsteps of Uncle Mike?

Well, I came to the startling realization that my current gym attire will probably last through my remaining tenure at the gym. I'm thinking that I will probably be "good to go" for another three to five years. After that, I will only be wasting time and money. I should be well on my way to decrepitude by then.

I seem to have not grasped the fact that I may have only 20 more years to live. Whether I live longer or not is irrelevant. My last ten or so years will be tortuous. How can anyone tolerate decrepitude or senility? You may have noticed that I have not yet unveiled the "master plan" in the "blog." Yeah, there isn't one. I have yet to come up with anything viable. Sheesh!

Slob Manor (Read: Rental Housing) Mini-Update®
Alan has been in Arizona, allegedly at his "McMansion," for seven weeks now. The length of time seems extraordinary. He's never been away that long. I don't believe that he paid the Slob Manor rent for this month either. At his age, I suspect that Alan is totally incapacitated, or he's dead.