Little victories

I have a longer post planned about yesterday (which was another day of fruitless profit. I got a number of things done things done, but the payoff will be at least a couple of weeks from now).

I cooked. Nothing complex: Masala chai, and chicken soup (the last of the broth klrmn brought me last Thus). I say cooked, rather than prepared because I doctored it. Not much, three juniper berries and some lime juice, but I spent time at the stove.

I also streamlined the making of masala chai; so that I can make it with a lot less hassle. I made a teabag from cheesecloth and kitchen twine.

I put a chair by the stove to prop the bum leg, and adjusted the grip height on my crutches (lessons learned from yesterday.

I am also amused at just how much my thinking is still patterned on things Army. I have my crutches in arms reach, just as though they were a rifle, and the body mechanics of manipulating them feels somewhat as a rifle too, esp. the details of adjusting the grips.

Bugalu has been most friendly, the bed is quite sleepable. My knees are stiff (qu'elle surprise).

Life has been, emotionally, really good. The internal monologue has not been all that frustrated, and the visible manifestations of love have been humbling.

My housemate (sorry Bear, but I have to say the present evidence moves her to the "Best Housemate EVAH!" not just the Calif. champion) has been incredible. Not just in what she has done, but in the ways in which she has been open about her concerns.

We have a small place. It's not actually ideal for two people; even if they were lovers (perhaps less, actually). I missed her terribly the weekend she was out of town. I was also glad she wasn't here, because I was tied to the couch. I needed the things the couch provided (ease of entry, exposure to the fireplace; ways to prop my leg). I felt horridly impositional; because that means I was filling the common space. Normally when I am in the living room I am in the far corner, and so not inside the area I think of as her personal bubble of implicit privacy (i.e. she can do things and not be at all concerned I might oversee/note things she doesn't want me to). The couch puts me inside that bubble.

It also puts her inside mine. So in two ways it makes me feel, "out of place" and imposing (because she has me in her space, and might have to worry about mine). Also, I felt squalid. I didn't actually, fall into real filth. I had a bag for trash, and managed to get most of my dishes, etc. into the sink. But there were papers which got away from me, clothes I wasn't able to properly dispose, etc..

She was comfortable bringing it up with me. That was, for all might seem counterintuitive a relief. She told me she had told Mike she was afraid of how the needful accommodations for someone with a broken ankle might make her peevish, even though she understands I am not trying to impose.

So we are on the same page.

Yesterday she arranged for me to be fitted for a rented knee-walker. I was a bit pettish about it. I am not broke, but the ways in which this is going to up my expenses, and reduce my income mean I am either breaking even, or going to slip a bit into the red (that I bought a new helmet after my New Year's trip to LA is part of that. It was $500 well spent, but it was all my discretionary income; It was all my discretionary income with a lower baseline of dayjob income than I really expected to have; so I'm not hugely in the hole, but it did presume I'd be earning that much from work. At this point I am not going to see that money until at least the middle of March: which is actually dependent on how work feels about me in a one--legged wheelchair).

I didn't express that to her at the time; because I know I am being over fretful about money. When she picked me up she brought it up, and we talked the rough aspects of the finances out.

She started by saying she knew she'd done something she didn't really have authority to do. She ended by saying it was, in part, out of self-interest. She didn't want to be dealing with me becoming an asshole from the frustrations of the crutches.

It was a terribly considerate thing. It seems to me that was a concern for our relationship, as much, or more, than it was about her not wanting to deal with a fretful, frustrated, pettish, PITA. She didn't want to end up liking me less, being unhappy with "me" if there was something she could throw some money at.

And there has been a lot of that sort of unconditional affection coming to me.

CG and I broke up last May. It wasn't a pleasant break-up. She sent a note to Les, asking if there was anything she could do. She did that when she thought I didn't want to talk to her. That was a misunderstanding, but she was concerned enough about both my well being, and my sensitivities, to do a fair bit of back-and-forthing with Les about it, before she talked to me.

We had a very nice evening on Friday last. I intend to take her up on the offer to go to her place and cook for me/play some rock band.

klrmn picked me up from the VA Monday. She went a bit out of her way from work. I called her because there was something I had, which she wanted to give to a homeless woman in her neighborhood, so we swapped mitzvot, and the comfort to the homeless woman was sped along.

This list of little comforts goes on. Comments in here, about this or that bit of drugs; or the cool art on a cast (anyone have a dab hand and want to draw my bones on my cast, with the break in red?), all combine to make me feel amazingly better about myself.

No, I am not happy I broke my ankle. I would, all in all, much rather I was more attuned to such little things without the focusing lens of real need. But since it's happened, I am going to pay attention to it.

Thank you, everyone.

Larger victories

I have wheels. I have a giant blue sock.

Now I want Les to come home, so I can try the latter out. I got good at "bottle baths in Iraq. They became so familiar (and/or I got so good at them) that I don't actually feel less than clean when I'm done. But there is something soothing about a shower. Also, I don't have the means to wash my hair. Cornstarch and a stiff brushing, then a good combing and braiding it up is fine, for keeping it healthy, but it's not as nice as actually shampooing it.

The former is a bit problematic. I think I shall get used to it, but the local streets don't have good sidewalks,and the balance isn't as stable as I might like. It seems to want to tip when one makes a more than gentle turn with any real energy. The track on the rear wheels is a bit narrow, and the brakes aren't great. This isn't a problem, on the flat but I'd hate to be on a steep hill.

Backing up is a bit less easy than I'd like.

The third bus I take to class is also pretty crowded by the time it gets to me. I don't know if the 522, which leaves a bit before the 22 I took yesterday, will get me there in time to get a less crowded 40, or if I ought to try going a little further on, and grabbing a 52. In any case I am getting to class pretty much on the hour.

But I expect it to be a lot easier, overall; certainly a lot less tiring, than the crutches. Yesterday was an adventure.

From my house to the bus is something between 1/5th and 1/4th of a mile. I made it in nine minutes. This meant I had eight minutes to wait on the bus. I was also trying to split the difference between the actual temp at 0630, and the expectable temps at 1500. I was, therefore a bit underdressed for the one, and over for the other. I did, however, have a pocket in my hoodie.

I'm also not a stork, and there is no bench at that stop. Balancing on one foot is a pain, and the crutches help some, but only some (the wheels can function as a seat, so that problem is fixed) The bus came. I got on, grabbed a seat. Got to the Palo Alto transit hub. No pastries in the café. Got my bus. Realised Peet's was out of the question (no way to crutch with any speed while holding a coffee cup.

Got to the stop. Made sure I was at the door when it opened. Got on. About one stop later I was offered a seat. Made it to class (coffee in hand, yes it really slows one down).

Got done with classes, headed to the library, to copy some paperwork I needed to present for my disabled transit pass (I really ought to have done this months ago, when it was useful, not needful). Got to the stop, had less than five minutes to wait. Same for the train.

Crutched to the SamTrans office, turned in the paperwork. Sat about. Was escorted to an office, explained my supporting docs, let them photocopy my VA card and had my picture taken. Card ought to arrive in a couple of weeks. I get to pay full fare until then.

Back to the train, called Les, who told me her plans had changed, so could bring me home; was told not to play the tough guy. Stay in the library, she'd be there at 1735.

Got some food, on the way to the library, then to the library, where I checked out some books, took a sort of dozey cat-nap, and was asked by the cop not to lie on the couch, but make some effort to sit up. I think my opening my eyes to look at him before he actually got there made him think I hadn't been sleeping, which appears to be against the rules.

Got ready to go... discovered my foot was not happy with the amount of work I'd done. Popped a percocet, and headed out. Got home, went to sleep. Woke up, got a snack, wrote an email, took a percocet, went to sleep.

Got up, puttered, made lunch, got fitted for the wheels, was otherwise productive in terms of overseeing some minor housework (Les has someone picking up some things I meant to do in the yard, which can't wait, so we went and got some soil, and amendment). Came home, puttered, talked to ladymondegreen, made supper and dashed this off.

Now I have some homework to do, and if I'm lucky, might be able to take a shower.

But, realistically, that will have to wait until tomorrow. It might be possible to make like a stork in the shower, but I don't want to chance it. If Les gets home in time I might hit the hot tub. I've tested the "big blue sock" on my good leg (as per the instructions) and it works.

If the pain would stop (and a co-worker of ladymondegreen has a similar injury, he says my pain pattern is very much like his. Joy. On the one hand it's good to know there is probably nothing abnormal, on the other... this shit hurts).