By my admittedly atypical standards anyhow.
First I had Wound Care. Cab there, cab back. Julian was busy dogwalking.
No big deal. Cabbies were very nice fellows. One of them was more or less Your East Indian Buddy’s Dad straight from central casting.
Big bear of a dude, too. So kinda hot in a DILF way. He had to be at least 6’5″ and 300 lbs and none of that was fat.
So a football player, essentially. But he’s probably only played soccer and cricket. Pity.
Wound Care went well. My nurse was Joy again. I like her. She is cheerful and competent and has a great smile.
There was some talk about getting one of the wound care nurses to “shave” the big honking callous on my right foot. I assume that means “pared away”, like that podiatrist did that once.
Works for me. I thought I would have to pay the podiatrist another $80 to get that done. Hopefully the nurses have some ideas on how to make sure the damned thing doesn’t just come back again.
Sadly, the Wound Care specialist nurse was on a home visit when Nurse Joy (!) called her today, so no getting my hoof trimmed for me today.
Joy put in a referral, though, and assured me that this meant that Janice the Wound Care Nurse would be there for my next appointment on Tuesday the 12th,
Groovy. It felt great when the podiatrist did it. Really feels amazing to have all that excess flesh carved away. MY foot gets lighter and the skin under the callous finally gets to breathe and suddenly I can stand flat on the floor again.
The area under the callous WILL be tender though. So I will be ready for that I will bring an extra pair of socks or two in case I need extra padding.
Got a big smile from Meagan in reception on the way in. So I gave her one on the way out. I’m beginning to think she fancies me.
That could get…. complicated.
Dear Emily Post : What’s the gentlest way to let a girl who might be into me know that I am gay and therefore the relationship can only go so far?
The thing is, I am biromantic. I can easily see myself falling deeply in love with a woman. For me, love is far more about the spirit and the soul than it is about the relatively boring physical hardware.
But physically, sex ain’t gonna happen. It pains me to admit it but I don’t do vaginas. They are nice and all but I don’t want to get to know them personally, know what I mean? I’m fine with remaining friends.
After Wound Care, I cabbed home in time for therapy with Doctor Costin.
He thinks I should go looking for a relationship. Not a totally crazy idea. Having someone to share my life and my days could do wonders for my stability and my self esteem as well as my sexuality.
Then again, maybe it is inhumane to drag anyone into the malevolent miasmic maelstrom that is my life.
But if it gets me closer to sanity, I can live with that.
More after the break.
It’s a jungle in here
To the tune of :
Woke up half an hour ish ago, at 8 pm feeling absolutely wretched.
Overheated. Nauseous, dizzy, and confused. And with a dark red pain throbbing in my temples and make every form of stimuli hurt.
Ain’t life a peach.
I figure it was mostly dehydration. I often overheat in my sleep and sometimes that means I sweat out all my reserves of hydration and wake up in a terrible state.
Like Utah. Or Mississippi.
And the thing is, I needed to blog n’ eat. And I really didn’t feel like doing either.
But I pulled myself together, made dinner, sat down and got some food and Diet Coke into me, and now I feel almost 70 percent human, and rising.
It will have to do.
Talked with Doctor Costin about the evil little voice in my head that looks at my mounting health problems and says “Shouldn’t you get off this train before it crashes?”
And maybe I should. Heck, maybe I will some day, when the health problems get so bad that there doesn’t seem like there is anything but increasing debility, decreasing mobility and dignity, and a futile and ignoble death in my future,.
So some day I may opt for what they are now calling MAID – Medically Assisted Induced Death. What we used to call “assisted suicide” back in the days when Doctor Kevorkian was dominating the news.
But that’s a long way off, hopefully. I can still have a lot of fun with this life of mine.
Who knows, when death gets so close to me I can feel its breath on the back of my neck, it might actually snap my out of my semi-comatose state and finally galvanize me into doing all the things I meant to do with my life.
It’s closing time, people. Drink up, hook up, and go the fuck home.
Doctor Costin is frustrated with my lack of progress, and I can hardly blame him. He’s been treating me for a decade now and the progress more or less stopped when VFS ended so badly and then the Daily Uno job ended and I got sucked into the Skyrim hole.
And never really made it out again. The games change but the addiction stays the same. I still spend most of my time hiding from the world in video games.
And that leaves precious little time or energy for anything like progress.
Instead, my life stays in a kind of walking stasis. A holding pattern, a feedback loop, a kind of standing wave of failure.
I have all this power and intelligence and talent and yet I am too sick in the soul to use it all to improve my life.
There’s got to be some way to get out of this trap.
Maybe I will run away from home after all.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.