I do try.

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Tonight, the idea was to get to bed early.  Early enough to be up early enough to be out early enough to be there in time to help.  I threw everything off by pouting in cooking the duck so late into the morning.  Almost 3:00 and I am just going down.  I'll still set the alarm.  Who knows.  I made plans to sleep earlier, even saw the potential.  It came and went and here I am.  Always hope.  Doubt, great doubt, but hope.  Hope is, really, just another word for tomorrow.  In one sense.  Tomorrow is until it isn't, and, in all the history of the earth, most people's tomorrows have already passed and there were fewer tomorrows then there was no tomorrow, in earthly terms.  Never mind, blathering as my brain shuts down.

Oh, I did heat some of the duck.  A cast skillet, ghee, this and that, at 350 for an half hour.  Look, if I am going to go through the effort to make a somewhat finer meal, then I am going to reheat it with respect.  A microwave would take the crisp right out of the skin, and might make the meat and veggies taste a bit off.  Some can do that, I am not, generally, among them.  It was quite good.  Not much meat on that bird.  Even at 7.2 pounds, I'll bet there wasn't more than two pounds of meat, max.  Ducks must have some seriously heavy bones.  Still, the a wing and hindquarter, and breast, by two, is four meals of sufficient portions for myself.  I'll not complain.

I do suffer.  If I were sleeping harshly I would be suffering too.  I go through these phases.  It will pass.  I might, if I can, even work through it, or otherwise by it.  Cranky muscles and bones.  The only way I can be up so long, and it is often running eighteen or more, as I have been watching more closely, is to do little else.  I really would rather be awake than in that fog.  The price, of  course, is pain.  I'm good enough with pain.  It will pass, for a while, soon enough.  Suffering, in some way, to my mind, means one is doing something.  And I am.  Good night.