Friday, August 14, 2015

A sock with many holes

I got rated "mostly harmless" in a recent review. That was in spite of the gardening leave and everything that led up to that. I cried a bit with the frustrations I've had to deal with. Sometimes I feel like Atlas, that I'm holding everything up. UPDATE: I got rated one less than I expected—and that was because of the gardening leave. I understand why but it still hurts.

There was an accident and two motorbike cops had partially shut down the intersection. I elected to go right and follow the car ahead of me with my using the Dirk Gently method of following a random stranger until you get where you need to go. It almost worked but they turned left to the nucleus of that suburb—in Canberra that means the IGA supermarket, a corner store and possibly a petrol station, DVD rental place and a hair dresser—and I guesstimated where I was. Based on direction I needed to go and width of the road I found my way around the blockage. I didn't resort to the digital map on my phone. I then hummed off into the night listening to that awesome mixed CD the Bevester burned for me about 15 years ago. 

My right hip aches when I sit. It's worm sign for the next Catalina Wine Mixer, I fear, our name bestowed upon hip surgery. I nearly died the last time but I'm fitter than I was and hey, it was a one in a thousand event. If I survived that tasty business once I can survive it again.

Word to the nizzle.

A report came out and my contributions were bumped. I was bummed—I got one thing in but it was a puff item. Still, it was a good read and some of my friends got stuff in. It took forever to come out.

I went to a recent lunch. It was good. I sat with interesting people who had interesting things to say. The food was awesome. I even stayed on water and did not resort to the lure of the fizzy mistress.

Take that, Fizzy Mistress (1).

I had a bus sit with a fellow traveller—vehicular and by profession—and I griped about the sad parts of our trade. He said "walk away and let it be theirs". It's sage advice but if I did I wouldn't be me. I go out feet first.

I think that deserves a repeat of word to the nizzle.

The meds have kicked in. The ache in my remaining natural hip is background. Thank the probs for pain meds. I know it's stupid to think how you would have gone in days of yore—because you're you now and you then wasn't you, it was someone else—but by Crikey's ghost it would have sucked wolf nipple chips to be a crip and have nothing to dull the ache. 

That's some nasty past pain business. 

I had a trot around outside. It was a magnificent Canberra winter's day—a chill, yes, but sun, oh glorious sun. I remembered all the good things as I brisked about on my efficient business. 

I feel better. 


UPDATE: We were in a cuddle sandwich, all three of us and the black cat. Then she swished her tail through my mouth.

Well played, cat. 

(1) Because I named it I think fizzy mistress became Fizzy Mistress. 

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