One year ago today: June 9, 2024, on day one.
Five years ago today: June 9, 2020, that Etch-a-Sketch thing.
Nine years ago today: June 9, 2016, I begin moving in.
Random years ago today: June 9, 2008, there aren’t any.
Food, says here all good blogs have a food feature. I’ll get to that, this morning was taken up by a flurry of contacts and arrangements. It is as boring as it sounds, but this is a journal meant to record the superlative events of the day. And this was it. The snag is they slated me for a procedure five days ago. Then I received a communication to cease one of my prescriptions seven days ago. As all my dosages are the minimum, they decided to go ahead after 96 hours. By this time, I had no window to arrange for a ride.
Here is the letter with the city map, off to South America. $6.60 since a map is not a letter, but a “document”. I’m on the last chapters of “Flying Tigers”, which was intense for its time. I remain impressed by the tiny details. I’m watching the dated-stamped acting of “After the Sunset: but find the script-writing is first class. Now I have to see him steal that diamond. My guess is he will let somebody else steal it, then steal if from him. Ha, “financially-procured female companionship”.
In fact, I’ll tell you the rub with these computer delays. It’s the MRI that’s been in the blog lately, the scan I have such hopes for. One medical meeting depends on the results. I ran into two four-day delays that made that impossible. One reason I chose my current clinic was they had cleared my insurance for no co-pay. So what could go wrong? Easy, they didn’t mention their records department, who own that image, are a separate company. I think the clerk, Danny, is pocketing cash a nd they want an extra $25 for the CD. So I went in last week and paid it. What else could go wrong?
The clerks at the main office are trained to accept money for co-pay, and presumed that was the purpose of my $25. Records say they have to send somebody over there to get it. After that, there is a 72-hour waiting period.
This, folks, is why in America, the most modern of societies, the inventor of the real Internet, and home of SpaceX, still plods along at medieval speeds. A bright spot was the say my e-boxes perfectly hold sheets of flat paper. Most of my computer records are not scans, it indexes of where things are stored. And thanks to the boxes, I now have some of the best organized messes ever.
You know, I don’t recall Augusta, Georgia. I’ve driven through it, maybe stopped for gas, but draw a blank about any seeing or doing. Word has just arrived Trump is sending 500 Marines to Los Angeles. Methinks he is test the waters. First ICE, then the National Guard, now the Marines. Each level is demonstrating they will follow Trump, not the woketard left. If this is a gamble, Trump is now holding the winning cards.
Google is again messing with privacy settings. I am supposed to be in Poland but I see they have me narrowed down to North Carolina, where I first opened 50 accounts, all using each other as a big circular reference. I’ve long since sold most of those in South America, but that is still disturbingly close a hit. (My records show it was only 48 accounts.)
Crooked River, Oregon.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
This afternoon was totally unique for me. I’m back from the clinic and my first round of steroid shots. As ever, I’ll give my perspective, if you want more, there’s the Internet. This is also the first needles I’ve had. They were two hours late getting started, the procedure was done in around twelve minutes. Even with the novocaine, there is a reason they strap you to the table. Twice a pain came through that nearly put me out. Otherwise it is some pressure and you can feel the needles.
Be ready to sign a dozen release forms, including one just before stating you are ready for it. Breaching all security rules, this is a photo where the four needles went in. Harumph, when I was young and sexy, I never had any freckles on my back. I took the liberty of bending the rules so that some day the world will lament this missed opportunity to nearly see my butt-crack.
A lot can be gleaned from these forms, mainly that they don’t get many patients in there like me. Yes, I worked right up to an hour before I arrived. Reading their brochure, I was prepared to spend the full three recommended hours in the recovery room. They released me after twenty minutes to drive home. By this time I’m famished and thirsty, it’s past 4:00PM. I have a lengthy checklist for symptoms every two hours. Other than a pain on my right side neck lasting three minut es, which was one of the items on the list, I’m good to go. Drove home in the rain and bought a whole tray of thin-sliced pork chops and a family-size can of baked beans with maple sauce. Chilled, with sour cream. All gone by 5:30PM.
I’ve kept the checklist every two hours, reporting nothing. No symptoms, no side effects. I felt mildly warm, but that is not on the list. The rain stranded me in the parking lot while so I listened to more of my detective tale. It’s another plot full of cop-think, where everybody is a suspect and those who don’t go along with it are put on a list. There is one unintentional sub-plot I picked up on. Lars, the widower, complains about how all the little old ladies are now crowding him, as in knocking on his door in the morning to ask if he needs “any help eating breakfast”.
The chuckle is the book and other characters make automatic fun of Lars, but I believe him. It is only men who have never gotten much of the real thing that cannot and dare not believe it could ever happen to other men. Right, Elliott? Old ladies I have ignored for years are suddenly just being naturally concerned, helpful, nuturing, and deeply interested in my emotional state. All beta males would say that is all ordinary--when it happens to you. I would remind any new readers that my episodes have been documented many times. I meet women everywhere I go.
I repeat that until I was 23 I did not know you didn't date yet another slim, sexy blonde babe any time you wanted. I did not even begin to notice the declining availability of babes until I was 24. Ah, but the behavior of other men has not changed. They thought I lying and I thought they were lying. I figured they must only be saying they could not get women as a cover up of their "harems". Since age 28 my thinking has changed and theirs has not. They still think I must be lying while I know they were telling the absolute truth. Which is that they never got any when it counted and today still pay for any them do get, usually via marriage, the highest price of all.
Why, Lars must be making it all up, imagining things, he’s suffering the spotlight effect. But I accept the majority of men really cannot see it when it happens. My theory is it never happens to them so they develop a blindness to the way non-stripper/hooker women move in for the kill. Few of their egos could deal with it. I actually know a few who have been to so many strip bars that they have no clue when women behave aggressively for any other reason.
It is 6:00PM with no side-effects. The card say it can take up to five days for the treatment to work. Not for me. I planned to take it easy but found I had to put more effort nn that than was saved, that is, for me it is more work to do nothing. I found myself reaching for plates and bending over to pick things up within hours. If pain can be said to feel heavy, I have a light feeling across the lower back. However, the tired feeling remains after just a few minutes. They applied some stiff bandaging they want left on for 24 hours. I’ll keep you posted, you know it.
Later, following orders and a super-checklist handed to me as I walked to my van, it is now 8 hours later and I have no adverse reactions other than a mild tightness around the neck. I have strict orders to take two days off. So I bought enough lumber for eight boxes, four of each. I’m toying with the idea of an ebox with a sliding lid. They have proven excellent for keeping letter-sized documents and cutting a groove is a small step up from a regular box.
At 10 hours, a mild pain on the left, below the ear. Less intense than the first, but lasting around ten minutes. I have no dietary restrictions but stop all blood thinners, which means aspirin for me. I have more orders to drink lots of water, my “own weight in water”, but I’ve never been able to force myself past my own thirst limit. Water still has that slight cardboard taste so I’ve been downing Jumex, coffee, soda, and grape juice. By late evening the only way I could drink anything when I was not thirsty was to tackle those three bottles of YuengLing that have been in the fridge since last month.
It’s been half a day and already I find myself moving around without thinking. This can only do good for my weight. There’s some link between the soreness and weak feeling, they arrive at the same time. My hope is that when the pain subsides, my core energy will return.
ADDENDUM
What gives? I vaguely remember a bassist named Tony from Tampa, was it? Now I see a tour group from Bowling Green saying he’s quitting and they want a replacement. A tour group? From Bowling Green, which is not big enough to hold a kazoo contest. Their profile says a lot of AC/DC. My touring days are long over, I never liked staying out late long before I went grey. The summer unemployed guitar player tsunami is upon us. So many of them these days have that ex-con look.
So, how was your Monday?
