Sorry. I talk about politics too much. But what is going on in this world is crazy. Do you know what he is doing? Do you know how complicit the Congress is? They are all in it to make money. Get as much as they can and they get out. Its all owned by corporations. I have great anxiety about this country. Our Founding Fathers really blew it. They didn’t set up enough measures. They were too trusting. Now they are all using it for their financial gain. They care about nothing but money. Conservatives? They aren’t conserving anything. Sorry. I talk about politics too much. I am obsessed with the news. In the next three months, right around midterm elections, there is going to be a huge crisis, a catastrophe. I’m worried about my social security and Medicare. I know that is selfish. I can’t help it. I might be getting a medical marijuana card. Did I tell you that? My knees are so bad. So stiff. My back hurts. Sorry. Here I go. Old guy talking about his ailments. That’s what old people do. Talk about what hurts. I’m probably looking at replacing both of my knees, on top of my hip replacement. Airport security, here I come. Get your wands out. I tried to take up skiing again. Not so long ago. I was an avid skier. Intermediate skier. I loved it. Thought I try it again in my forced retirement. I couldn’t do it. Even took lessons. It was my knee. It won’t turn. I fell so many times, had so many contusions, I said, that’s it. No more skiing for me. Sorry. My back is in such pain. Something is wrong with my lower back. I’ve got to get physical therapy or something. Here I go, old guy talking about all his aches. Sorry. But I can barely move sometimes. Except when I’m on my bike. I can bike, get in the zone, for like two hours. But then afterward, I’m done for the day. I’m in bed by 9:00. I’m worried about being alone. Hell, I’m worried about being called out by the hashtag me too movement. I’m not sure Constance and I are going to stay together. I am her caretaker, you know. She has this bad heart, always has. She has a pacemaker, lots of surgery. But nothing stops her. I take her to the doctor. I tell her to slow down. Because I love her. She commutes an hour – two hours- to work every day in the worst traffic, Boston traffic. She is a workaholic. She wants a dog. I don’t want a dog. I mean I like dogs but where we live is no place for a dog. A dog needs fields and open places. I would be the one taking care of the dog. If she gets a dog, it is either me or the dog. If she gets a dog, without my consent, well, then, what is she saying to me? She complains about me to her sister – her rich, older sister and to her brother-in-law, the sister’s husband. When we go visit them, they bully me. They are mean to me because of all the things she says to them about me. A relationship means you have to sit down and talk about things but she won’t do that. Where is this relationship going, I ask. She wants a dog. It is her house. She pays the mortgage. She makes lots of money. Her boss is her ex-husband. She is terrified of him. I have my own house. I never rented it out when I moved in with Constance. I was never confident that the relationship was going to work. She was great support when the university retired me at 62. I wasn’t ready. Work. That is all I knew. That was my identity. Now? Two years later. I couldn’t be happier. Except for the world and the fucking morons who are ruining our county. They don’t care about us. They are going to get their money and move on. Republicans. No soul. No ethics. Sorry. Here I go again about politics. Better then ranting about all my aches, right? Which is what we talk about in old age. What hurts. You think I wouldn’t end up alone? If we split up? You think there are women out there who would be interested in an old curmudgeon like me? Really? I take care of her, you know. I am her medical support team. All the doctor’s appointments, hospital surgeries. I’m her advocate. I got her medication changed because I knew something wasn’t right. But I don’t want to be her dog caretaker, too. I think she’d rather have a dog than me. I’m not talking about being lonely. I’m not lonely. I’ve got my books and my bicycle. Did I tell you I bike for over twos hour everyday. I got marijuana too. I like to live in my head and think about things. History. Things that I can rant about with my friends. Not that I have any friends. So not lonely. I’m afraid to be alone. My brother, so proud of himself because he never goes to the doctor. Well, he had a heart attack. Now he’s got a stent. High cholesterol runs in the family. I take medication. Small dose. But if he had taken care of himself instead of bragging, he might not have a stent now. Sorry. Talking about old- age problems again. Sorry. I can’t help it. See this here. Basal cell skin cancer. Right on my nose. Had it have it removed. Mohs surgery. Basal Cell Skin Cancer. Kills people, you know. I gotta go to physical therapy or something. I can barely stand up after sitting. My legs are so stiff. What say we have a glass of wine, I’ve fallen in love with this red wine I buy, a deep strong red , or a margarita? Or how about a toke? Just wait for the next few months. Something is going to happen. A catastrophe. A crisis. I know it is coming. Right around midterm elections. There I go again. Sorry. Politics. I am so anxious.