sinisterporpoise

Following the usual tradition for the day the SNAP card is loaded, I went out with the housemate to procure enough groceries from the month. I knew this was a bad idea after the cleaning session yesterday and taking someone to work this morning, but i did it anyway. I wanted to get it out of the way.   I nearly screamed  out as a brief spasm of pain went through the ankle, and I was grabbing my arm  in the car several times.

I made it through Wal-Mart, managed to pick up loratadine, forgot to pick up the ankle braces I had meant to pick up, and got most of the items needed for thanksgiving dinner and to get through the next month as well.   After that, we went to Sam's Club to pick up a few more items.  Before I got out of the Chevy S-10 Cab, the roommate uttered this line:

"If I see you wince even one time between here and the door, I'm forcing you into one of their mobility scooters."

I got out and made sure to stay ahead of her -- not an easy task while flaring -- until I got to the door.


 

 Today is the housemate's 42nd birthday.  She shared this information early in the morning, and I paid as much attention to it as I pay to her requests for me to kill the spiders in the bathroom. (I like the spiders in the bathroom. They kill things I don't like. As long as they aren't poisonous to me, I'm happy to share my house with them. Plus, it's bad luck to kill spiders.)  

Eventually, the information made its way into my brain. I said "Happy Birthday."

I did not get thanked as she expected. Instead, she reminded me that she was an fat woman over 40 who did not want to be reminded that today was, in fact, her birthday.  I realize there are other events that she probably does not want to remember, including er getting arrested for actually following Indiana law. The anniversary of my arrival in Indiana also occurred a few days later.  But even though I'm not over 40, I share her weight issues and I still want people to remember my important days.  I just refuse to believe Star Wars turns 40 years old at the same time I do.

Sadly, I would have taken out to see Agengers 2: Age of Ultron if the doctor who did my foot surgery had not forgotten that I proably wouldn't be able to go back to work right after the surgery.

 It seems that the aftermath of the toe surgery has drawn to a close. I was cleared to go back to work and to wear real shoes again today. At least I can finally start breaking in the orthotics I received just after they completed the surgery.  At least that's one less thing to worry about. Sadly, I'm not scheduled to go back to work for another week yet.  I hope I'm not misreading the signals from some of my bosses, who think that this will solve all of the problems I've been having with standing at work.  (Of course, I'm still not clear on why the surgery was necessary.  Performing it to relieve the pain doesn't seem to be a valid one since the pain from the toes didn't bother me that much. Nor did he seem to answer my question about why the extra bone in each big toe would become inflamed after 38 years or so of causing no problems.)

Next week, I will meet with a new therapist, who apparently has worked as an LGBT activist and in social justice causes according to the pamphlet put out by the Hamilton Center. I will meet her the day after I come back to work. I think meeting her will be an interesting experience, regardless of how it turns out.

Although things seem okay right now, there was one problem  that has bummed me out slightly.  My laptop screen got cracked somehow last night. I am not sure how this happened. Either I stepped on it and didn't realize it as I went out to get some milk at 3 a.m. in the hopes that it would finally get me to sleep, or I did something in my sleep that caused it to become cracked.  (I'm betting on the first option in this case.  It was hard to tell exactly where my feet were while I was wearing the surgical shoes.)

The only downside of getting out of the surgical shoes is I'd finally adjusted to how they were affecting my balance.  Now that I'm back in normal shoes, it's going to take a few days to get the original sense of balance of back. 

The weather remains a little on the cool side, but that has not stopped me from going to bed sweating and a little on the warm side. Sometimes I even notice sweating when I get up to go to the bathroom during the night.  Now, I've thought my body's temperature sensing and control mechanisms were out of whack since last summer, although the extremely cold winter may have alleviated this problem some what. 

Because these sensations are unpleasant, I've started sleeping with the fan on at night.  Lately, however, the fan has been turned off when I wake up in the morning. I am not usually sure why this is, unless I know I turned it off the night before.  The housemate, the only other person in the house, swears she's not doing it. 

I have come up with multiple theories, all of them of which I find equally likely:

1.) I am simply forgetting that I turned it off.
2.) The housemate is lying about not turning it off
3.) Friendly energy-saving spirits turn the fan off to prevent the electrical bill from becoming too high. (I love the possibility of gnome intervention.)
4.)  My parasomnias have reached a new level that now allow me to manipulate switches and knobs in my sleep.

I succumbed to napativity at around 8 p.m. tonight.  Four hours later, I woke up, only to find that my roommate had also gone to sleep, and apparently had woke up a few minutes before I did. I have to wonder if our circadian rhythms have synchronized for some strange reason.  At least it was not her waking up about the same time I am in the shower.

This Saturday promises to be a busy day.  I must wake up earlier than usual and prepare chicken pot pie for the pot luck meal today.  It'll be nice to spend some time in the woods, even if it is the slightly sanitized version of a county park.  I'm not sure how the roommate feels about being drug along to this particular activity, but she agreed to it after I described nearly getting into an accident in her Crown Victoria because the surgical shoes made it hard for me to not put my foot on the accelerator and the brake at the same time. After she heard this story, she informed me that I wasn't driving until I stop wearing the surgical shoes.

Now I just need for the tired feeling to come over me yet again so I can go back to sleep and be prepared for tomorrow morning.

Waking up at 2:00 a.m. when I have a 140+ mile round trip ahead of me later in the day really doesn't do it for me.  

I discovered this yesterday.  

Finding one of gun enthusiast housemate's firearms lying across the couch while you settle down to pay bills. 

 Me: [Kneeling down to pick up laundry sorted on the bed.] [Groans in pain.]
Me: [Bends back up with whites in hand.] How are you today? Are you at least better than I am?
Roommate: Probably. I promise I won't use my pain-free privilege over you.
Me: Never use that phrase again.

I went to Sam's Club yesterday. I did not have to work. It was an eye appointment that I scheduled a month ago. As I'd threatened to do,  I drug my roommate along so she could get her hearing tested at a nearby place. As it turned out, the place that would do the testing required an appointment.  I chalked it up to there being incorrect information on the Internet, but the attempt to make the appointment encountered some resistance.

I walked into the place, exchanged a few pleasantries with the receptionist and sat down. The roommate, reluctant to say anything, only said that we were there because of my problem. Technically, this is true. She is not bothered by how loudly she plays the television or some of her gaming videos.  After assuring the woman that she was the one who had problems with appropriate volume levels, it took a few more questions.

After a few minutes, the receptionist handed the housemate an appointment card. She'll be going back Friday, probably before I go grocery shopping for the house.

As for the eye appointment, it went well. I just need to order eyeglasses tomorrow.