Emptied and loaded the dishwasher, finished the first part of the poem about the bird. Considered banging my head against the wall; considered what it would look like if it stayed that way. Considered Jeff considering me with my head stuck in the wall: “well never mind that get me out of here” and discarded head-banging in its less figurative form as a pastime, at least for today.
I must now attend to the horny appendages at the ends of my legs at least twice a week or they get snarled in shit and cause no end of pain. Filed down to a dull roar? I’m good. Bending is not good. But the outcome is good, and I have a shower stool.
Oh my god, for two seconds I thought that was Jeff humming but it’s power tools or a generator or something NO IT’S THE HARDWORKING GARBAGEMEN OF BURNABY (well I’ve never seen a lady garbageperson so no I don’t feel bad using sexist language about it to draw attention to that) and now I feel like my hearing is disappearing. Well, I guess I should score my tinnitus as super high today.
There, perhaps that’s enough whining. I heard Mike’s voice yesterday, he called, and he’s having a super rough time (work, isolation, life maintenance). He wants to see me but he says that if he ever got his parents sick he’d self-ignite from guilt and I totally get it. I keep working my way up to being mad about it but it’s
I could not love thee (Dear) so much, Lov’d I not Honour more.
all the way, unfortunately in this case. Filial piety has to count for something.
