I'm....

     ...Frustrated.  Yes.  I'm frustrated.  The whole mess with my back, medical treatment, dealing with being off work, trying to get cleared to work without making my back worse, it's all frustrating.

Reflecting Fool

     While the rule of law (national and international) and long-established government functions come crashing down, I'm hearing a lot of news about the Reflecting Pool in Washington, DC.

     It's a distraction.  Was the repair work graft-laden?  Probably.  Was the previous condition and repair effort over-hyped?  Almost certainly.  But look -- this is a big, shallow hard-surface pool in warm-climate city.  It's filled from the Tidal Pool and/or city water sources,* and in recent decades, every time it gets drained and refilled for whatever reason, it ends up full of green gunk for a while.  You can't have a shallow, slow-moving pool of water in a Washington, DC summer without stuff growing in it, no matter what you have done to the thing.  They'll solve the current mess, including the self-created elements, by and by, and yeah, probably someone's going to line their pockets over it (again!) to the tune of millions or tens of millions.

     But there are people within the Federal government or closely connected to it, ripping off the public coffers or cheating private-spending suckers and rubes of billions of dollars; the destruction of USAID has resulted in deaths on an enormous scale and helped fuel the present ebola outbreak in Africa, which is on the edge of breaking containment.  The only thing that keeps ebola in check is that it kills infected people pretty quickly, and even those who survive it are usually too sick to travel far until they have recovered.  The present version appears to have a slightly longer period of ambulatory-but-infectious, and that's a problem.

     A little bit (or a lot) of green algae in a (usually) pretty part of DC's memorial landscape is insignificant compared to the infectious dead and burial efforts that are barely keeping up.  Millions of dollars are way smaller than billions.  Yes, it's one more embarrassing farce -- but Europe's melting in the summer heat, disease is way up in Africa, and screwworms are infesting American cattle and pets.  We've got more urgent business than pointing at the green water and snickering.
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* Various infographics show a system of nearly Byzantine complexity.  Make what metaphors of it you will. 

Tuesday

     Yes, well.  Um.  Nothing to report.  I feel like low-grade awful.

Monday

     I went to some effort to return to work, and got chided for it.  Because the doctor put restrictions on my activity, there are more Forms to be Filled Out and approved, via a not very obvious procedure with a third party, and until they are, I cannot go back.

     It's not deliberately Kafkaesque, it's just a ramshackle structure put together to deal with the various contracts, rules and laws that apply, or that might apply, or that some attorney woke up thinking would be a problem unless....  But it falls to me, the person with the back problem, to lift it and carry it, and I'm not as good at it as I probably should be.

     Where does it leave me?  I don't know.

Father's Day

     If you've got one, I hope you made contact.  Yeah, yeah, someone's going to tell me about an awful, awful father, and I'll ask 'em, "Worse than Saturn?" but most fathers do their best, or however close to it they can manage.  One day a year to recognize it isn't too much to ask, and who knows?  You might even end up as friends.

     In the end, my father was my friend, same as in the beginning and a lot of times in between, and I still miss him.

Got Through The Day

     Chaired the online meeting, did a couple loads of laundry and even washed dishes.  That's plenty.  I kind of napped a few times, too.

     Healing takes longer and longer as the years add up.

Conversations With A Doctor

     So I show up at the ortho specialist's this morning, trudge up the stairs to check in just past the dot, and they ask which doctor, then tell me, "He'll see you downstairs."

     The old lady probably needed the exercise anyway, despite what my knees are telling me and my back is hinting at.  Down to the other waiting room, and after a short wait, they take me back, weigh me (under 14 stone, which is awful but improving) and tell me to change to be X-rayed.

     Zap, zap, and I'm sitting in an exam room, glowing slightly and looking over someone else's manuscript when the doctor comes in, introduces himself and asks, "Has anyone ever discussed the defect in your spine with you?"

     The which in my what?  I tell him no and he sits down, calls up the images, and proceeds to show me in today's images and in a set from 2021 when I did something stupid that I have since forgotten, how the important very last bone at the bottom of my spine is, in fact, two bones, a big one carrying the weight and a little one, floating around, more or less linked up as it should be.  They start out as two bones, but should fuse well before your first breath.  Mine did not.

     It turns out that this biological miracle is so rare, so dire, so weird that, per the doctor, "If I X-rayed the spines of a hundred people at random, around seven of them would have this."  It's not a problem, unless it is, and then...yeah.  Technicolor pain, if you do it wrong.*

     He wrote a couple of new prescriptions, one of which the pharmacist wants to talk to me about (get enough daily prescriptions, the darned things gang up on you), has me in line to schedule physical therapy (oh, joy) and says I can go back to work -- if I refrain from twisting, bending, twerking or trying to pick up anything heavier than a full-grown tomcat.  I didn't ask about parachuting or rock-climbing but they're probably off for awhile, too.
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* The correlation between this and the share of people with glitchy backs isn't perfect, but it's not insignificant.

And Thursday

     Thursday is the same, except Tam and I did the trash-day stuff.  Very slowly, for my part.  But the catboxes have been renewed and fridge has been cleaned, and that's something.  And tomorrow, the city will take the trash away.  Probably.  Wait a minute....

     I just checked.  Tomorrow is Juneteenth.  It's a city holiday.  So that would be a No.  They'll get it Saturday.

New Day, Same Stuff

     Yesterday afternoon, I had an unbreakable obligation that meant driving to the far west side of Indy on 38th Street.  I did it, and was merely exhausted and mildly sore later.  I guess that's a good sign, but it's frustrating -- an hour in the car ought not result in needing to go lie down for a few hours. 

     It should have been less than a hour driving, but the city's patching some ugly potholes on eastbound 38th street at a point where the only way to do the job is by creating rolling, alternating lane closures, and shutting traffic down altogether when they cross over.  This would be easy to become vexed about, but the fact is, the crew was in constant motion, a flurry of a half-dozen men shoveling out steaming hot mix and tamping it down while a big truck crawled along pulling the heated trailer of mix, and one guy managed traffic.  Seeing them, it was obvious that if there was a quicker way to do the job, they'd be doing it.  And this was along just enough of a curve to be a surprise, as traffic came off the short section of 38th that's merged with I-65.*  Drivers were taking it with surprisingly good humor.  Possibly the fact that potholes in that stretch had become nearly cataclysmic, combined with the obvious effort on the part of the road crew, kept people from getting too annoyed.

     I got my errand done (I'd bought a National VHF receiver through a proxy months ago, and while it's not very large, the collection of fragile polystyrene-form coils for the thing made commercial shipping a nightmare, so it was passed from hobbyist to hobbyist to reach me as people traveled for various purposes) but that was it for the day, and today has been mostly horizontal.  If Past Me had bought something like an R-390 instead (a tank of a communications receiver built for the military, designed by Collins), I would have had to pass it along to whoever else wanted it; I could not have lifted it, let alone carried the thing.  Next life, I'm gonna collect stamps.  But when you're doing this kind of hand-to-hand, you've got to show up when the baton comes your way.

     A feature of the my present issues is allergy-like symptoms: sore throat, scratchy eyes, runny nose.  This only makes horse sense with back trouble if those indicators came first and I have vaccines for all the likely causes, but after thinking it over, I ordered a flu and covid test last night and took it this morning, just to be sure.  Nope, nothing but the "control" line that shows the nasal sample and reagent diffused up the indicator okay.  So I guess that's a relief.  The doctor can figure it out; that's his job.
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* I don't know what genius came up with the idea, which seems nuts at first but actually works, getting both traffic arteries through a narrow spot in the landscape -- with a certain amount of lane-swapping.  It's spicy at rush hour but it's akin to a stretched-out traffic circle: there are no sharp intersections, no traffic lights or left turns, and while there's a certain amount of hurt feelings, forced merges and the occasional scraped fender, drivers manage to stay out of each other's way better than on most other busy city streets.

Whoa, Nellie!

     I should've held my horses.  I felt better in the morning, so I went back to work yesterday and by late afternoon, I was in serious amounts of pain.  I wrote an email that seemed all right when I wrote it, and when I looked again, it was half gibberish; stood up to get a cup of water and got a nasty jolt from the small of my back, above and beyond the dull aching radiance.  Things did not improve from there.

     Got home, limped through the corner grocery on the way and managed to pick up a rotisserie chicken and a couple of salads along with a small bag of oranges -- and "managed to pick up" isn't just figurative language, it was almost too much weight.  I unloaded the car by leapfrogging burdens -- dinner, lunchbox, briefcase -- and stayed on my feet long enough to free up a wing and a drumstick for Tam, some chunks of white meat for me, and strip the rest of the bird for soup later.

     Last night was a low-grade nightmare of alternating cold-gel packs and heating pad (and one late-night call) interspersed with dreams about hurting and this morning, I'm better but far behind where I was yesterday morning.  I shouldn't have gone in. Paperwork and a few trips up and down the stairs were all it took to screw up my back again.

     Not a fan of this present state of affairs.

Hoo Boy

     Everyone out there who thought they were ringing in a Caesar and either didn't care or were actively hoping he'd ring down the curtain on the American Republic has now been conclusively shown to have latched onto a dollar-store Nero instead -- and this one can't even play the lyre!

     I don't suppose any of his blood-and-soil fans will mind, and no doubt they loved Sunday's blood and blather.  Say the word "culture" to 'em and they reach for a club (no, I don't mean the 1980s band).

Sunday Night

     I should post something, maybe pithy commentary about whatever in the hell it is that's going on at the White House, but it's past my bedtime and a stripy yellow tomcat keeps walking into the office and rearranging things to suggest I ought to go to bed.  He's right.