I spent a chunk of the day digging through and trying to decipher the story of my ancestors. It was a big thing back in the day to have a grandfather and his kids and his grandkids all with the same damned name. It makes the whole process really painful, and jesus, I have to say, if you have like twelve kids and the first three die, why on earth would you feel OK to recycle the name that quickly?

Add into this the fact that one of my relatives moved into the place where one relative live, after she died, and took her name, just to complicate shit.

My wife impressed me by being semi-comatose and dosed with all the vitamins she could find in the house and more, to combat some kind of imposter bug that triggers the COVID defcon just the same, and managed to watch and understand most of Twelve Monkeys. Enola Holmes was lighter fare, but even so, watching these two when you are not feeling well isn’t the best idea. Having a toothache and being in the middle of a pandemic while Bruce Willis rolls through an apocalyptic scenario created by someone who could pass as a Trump with a ponytail, respect!

I am keeping the writing in so far. Three days — I feel like I am bragging in the way I did when I once foolishly gave up coffee.