Little victories
Jan. 26th, 2011 11:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumI 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 brothklrmn 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.
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.
