Had good ol’ Wound Care today, a Monday.
It’s also a stat holiday, so I had to be buzzed in. The nurses work on stat holidays but the reception staff and all the rest of the admin workers do not.
The benefits of not having a crucial job, I guess.
I know there’s a better word for that. One we used all the time during the pandemic. And yet I cannot remember it.
Getting old sucks.
Anyhow, the new-ish wound on my right foot, the one that had the big blister under it, seems to be doing fine now. There’s no sign of the blister except a section of slightly reddened skin. So phew, at least that’s over and done with.
I still could hear from Doctor Chao about the swab they took, so I might not be entirely out of the woods yet.
In this case, no news is definitely good news. If I don’t hear from him about it I will assume they didn’t find anything too scary on the swab.
Or maybe… they found something so hideous and terrifying that they are afraid to tell me in case that makes it angry!
But probably not.
Other than the very minor annoyance of having to ring the bell and be buzzed in, it was a standard trip to Wound Care at the CCC.
I am getting to know the nurses there fairly well, though not by name I’m afraid.
It never occurs to me to ask their name. On some weird and no doubt insane level, that feels like an impolite question to me. Like I’d be prying.
Yeah it doesn’t make sense to me either.
Afterwards. we stopped at Pricemart and Julian was nice enough to go in there and get me a kilogram of BBQ peanuts.
I needed those because it’s very clear to me that my current supply of trail mix ain’t gonna last till Friday.
In fact, I am most likely going to run out tomorrow, Tuesday.
So I needed to supplement my supplies and when I have to do that I usually get peanuts because they are cheap, tasty, and nutritious.
And Julian was able to find lovely BBQ peanuts in the bulk section for me, and I haven’t had those in ages.
So like, yum.
It makes sense that my trail mix is running out because the recent disruption in my supply chain of groceries made it so that instead of getting my usual 1 kg No Name ™ Original Trail Mix and a 600 g bag of something from Basse, I ended up with a 750 kg bag of No Name Sierra Trail Mix and a 400 g bag of that praline mix from the friendly folk over at President’s Choice.
AKA, products for people who are too proud to buy No Name stuff but still want or need to get things cheap.
As you can tell, that only adds up to 1.1 kg which is 500 g less than my usual amount of trail mix, ergo, a shortfall.
Getting used to getting my stuff from Shoppers isn’t going to be easy. And that assumes that last week wasn’t a fluke caused by them still having some American products in the warehouse and next week they’ll be all out.
I may have to make even more accommodations and adjustments. Le sigh.
I don’t like this level of disruption in my life, but it’s a price I am happy to pay if it contributes in some small way to telling Donald Trump to go fuck himself.
Canadians are pissed off and I am loving it because it leave Polievre with absolutely no moves. He can’t agree with our PM or his MAGA-lite base will devour him like a pack of wild dogs, and yet he clearly can’t disagree either or he will be branded a traitor and get torn apart by literally every Canadian.
So at least Trump found a way to get PP to shut the fuck up.
And who knows, maybe a few of his supporters will start wondering how the hell they ended up in a bind like this.
Honestly, the world needs a “right wing but sane” movement almost as much as it needs a “angry liberal” movement.
More after the break.
The longest dream
My entire journey of recovery has felt like waking up.
As if part of me has been in deep sleep for a long time and therefore returning to myself is a matter of drawing that part of me out of its slumber so that I may be whole.
Looking back even just a couple of years makes me feel like I was dreaming back then.
And in a way, I was. The mind fog I live in thins out year by year. The sun slowly rises and its light comes streaming in, burning the mist away.
Hopefully the lowering of my Paxil dose will speed that along. It’s done me a lot of good so far. I might be less stable now but that also makes progress possible so I am quite willing to pay that price.
Stability isn’t everything anyway. Predictable awfulness is still awfulness.
There are times I feel anxious for no real reason. Nothing external, anyhow. I figure the real reason is that my awakening mind produces a lot more energy than before and yet it doesn’t really know what to do with it yet.
I’m working on it.
I still have very sleepy instincts. I still compulsively avoid doing anything truly energetic even though I know getting my energies out would make me a lot saner and happier. The somnolent part of me still does not want to wake up and it will do whatever it takes to the rest of me as long as it doesn’t have to wake up and face reality.
I know about reality but I’m not fond.
It’s not hard to envision how that came about. That dormant part of me went to sleep while I was being raped at the age of 4 and all I could do was flee into the depths of my own mind, telling myself, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real.
But it was and it is.
Ever since then, withdrawal has been my primary defense mechanism. Like a turtle, I retreat into my shell when threatened or scared or confused, and it takes a great deal of gentle coaxing to get me to come out of my shell at all.
And even then, the slightest thing will have me withdrawing again, and odds are that I won’t come out again for a good long while.
I’d like to stop doing that. I really would.
But when I try I just end up giving up.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.