insomnia of buddy don: caint stop thankin bout betrayal

tiz a foolish thang how we let a lil thang git into our heds lack twuz a bee jes a buzzin away till we caint even sleep fer thankin bout it. tiz a time to count blessins:

1. still breathin . . . n thru bof nostrils
2. still gut a grate job . . . lease fer now n probly thru this hole thang (not to weauxph)
3. still gut a grate life with indoor plumbin n luxuries a king frum a hunnert years ago couldnt even dream of havin
4. still gut the best woman in the worl marrd to me
5. aint suffern most of the woes that afflick the res of the worl: gut a nuff to eat, a dry n warm place to sleep, cloze to wear, books to read, a computer n broadband connecskhun to the innernet, n much too much to count
6. mos of my best birthdy presents frum my verr furst birthdy is still in good wurkin order, fer instunts, them fangers i wuz give -- kin type n pick a lil guitar or piano or nose or mandolin (n i gut the instermints to play, fer that matter); them eyes kin still take in the sunrise over man hattan as i walk to wurk; them ears still gits to hear them birds a'sangin ever mornin; that skin is still waterproof; that stomach i wuz given on that furst birthdy still has a decent appetite; agin, thay too minny blessins thar to count but i thank ye git the idee
7. grate add vice frum skb n deb in my comments frum yesterdy, witch i really preciate em, even ifn i caint git them comments to wurk at the moment
8. fer that matter, the fambly crisis we are a'goin thru rite now is a reminder how thangs is gittin better n thangs aint hopeless
9. n fack is, thays always hope, witch i hope i kin rite bout sumthin else next time, mayhap a nuther chaptur