My prized possession: handicap placard. State Rep Tom Murt got it for me. The other prized possession is my new sippee-cup which someone left at my house.I just returned from a fruitful trip to the Abington Free Library, a short 12-minute drive from home. I backed into one of the many h'cap spots in front of the libe, installed my h'cap placard on my window, got painfully outa the car, and hobbled in.
In addition to my sciatica that never stops - oh, actually, as I'm typing this, sitting on my comfy couch, there's little pain unless I think about it, and there it is: gnawing inside my tush like a hungry rabbit, with the rabbit shimmying up and down my shapely inner thighs.
Distraction is the best defense.
Music is also tres important. I've got a soprano in the living room doing some baroque, and rock n roll in the kitchen.
I did intensive research to find what books to check out. I've just gotta dig my teeth into something good. I wrote em down on a pad which I carried inside with me and found me some great books.
Movies, I just take what's there.
This is one of the best lunches I've made in a while. Salmon, w/veggies. And my fave, mashed potatoes w/real butter. Oh, Mrs. Zwick, an elder I volunteered for, refused to give up her butter. And died anyway.From Abington Libe, I went to OfficeMax to buy a new computer cartridge. I keep its no. in my wallet - 720 - thirty buck-a-roos for the generic brand.
When I got back in the car and tucked the placard back in the glove, a man pulled up in a Lexus (I'm a car buff - dig these photos of a Packard). His young son jumped out first, while I watched to see .... well, ya know, if he was crippled.
Excuse my political incorrectness. I too am a cripple. No fuckin' big deal. At least I still have a mind.
He passed the crippled test. I think one leg was shorter than another. Too young tho to have polio as a kid.
What I realized was that: we cripples look at one another. We check each other out, subtly.
See, my problem is that I groan when I'm in pain. Scott can't stand it. My poor Ruthie, he sez. Please, Scott, I say. I'm fine.
I don't wanna see my GF in pain.
Well, after Weds., August 3, the pain will be gone. Hopefully! Surgery with Dr Guy Lee at Abington.
Today is Day Three of Gout. I'd say it's 60 percent better.
You don't know what pain is until you've experienced this 'too much uric acid' in your system which usually migrates to the big toe, actually called 'the great toe' in anatomy.
When I picked up more of my goddam lifesaving drugs at the Giant Pharmacy I talked to pharmacist Bobby about the gout.
He'd had it too. A support group of two.
I told him my blood sugar has been running high.
"Could it be the prednisone pack I'm on? The 10-9-8- per day?"
"Yes!" he said. "Are you getting moodswings with it, are you angry, irritable?"
Prednisone is a steroid, like the ballplayers take and lie about.
"Gee, I forgot all about moodswings. Once when I had bipolar and was on the Pred I called up all these psychiatrists and yelled at them over the phone."
We laffed. Yeah, it's funny now...just about every stupid thing you did in the past is funny now. Isn't that something how the brain works.
I use a shopping cart as a walker when I enter the Giant and do my shopping.
I was mad at my family doctor, Mary, when she prescribed the Pred knowing I had bipolar. I found another family doctor, recommended by son Dan.
Dr L was terrible. Very lazy. Then I switched to Ada's doctor. But I didn't like the receptionist, Ellie, so I got outa there. Enuf already!
It was so good to have that long soak of a rain yesterday. My birdbath is full.ELDERLY LADY ON THE ARM OF HER SON IN THE UPPER MORELAND LIBRARY
She had one of those faces
you fall in love with at first glance:
a fat puffy dumpling
floating to the top of the soup.
I like these little poetry "sketches". Forgot to comment when you sent them to me. They are like small paintings.
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