August 25th, 2006

good mris pic

Fridayish stuff

So, stuff:

We have phone and internet consistently again now. This is good. I like this whole "contact with the outside world" thing sometimes. I was able to call for Indian takeout from my cell last night, though. Once again, the joys of living in the future present themselves! And St. Pete did not get hit by another tornado, despite the preliminary reports I was hearing when I turned on the weather last night. That freaked me out a bit. I'm keeping myself from hamstering around the web looking for pictures of Kasota -- I don't need to relive that particular season of my life. Just the Strib article about the Kasota tornado will be enough. (It's not that I'm scared of tornadoes now any more than any sensible person is scared of tornadoes. But thinking about their aftermath is more likely to make the bottom drop out of my stomach than it used to.)

timprov's new neurologist is just as awesome as he was when he was my old neurologist. He's the one who enumerated the reasons why he thought epilepsy was a bad diagnosis for me (in a nutshell: because I don't have it, actually), and as a result we kept looking and found my actual health problems rather than just caving in and starting a medication that could have caused lovely side effects without even having particularly beneficial primary effects for me. In addition to doing hopeful, good, worthwhile stuff for T., he told stories about his time as a GP for the Inuits, and he wrote down a couple of book references. I'm pretty sure he's going to own a copy of Farthing within a week, probably this weekend.

(I realize that having good taste in books, or flexible taste in books, or, y'know, any taste in books at all is not an objective measure of being a good doctor. But I feel better when the people who are poking at our brains seem to have some clue of what we might want to use them for and why.)

It's cool and grey and rainy here, not like August at all. I suspect that August is trying to make up to me for last August. It's still my least-favorite month, but at least this year it's making faces like it might start Septembering any minute now, which is very good indeed. Also I hit a section of pavement that smelled like the section of pavement just inside Hyde Park. Sometimes having a scent-memory this detailed is not an unmitigated blessing, but that time was nice.

I will be walking the beastlet and working on Sampo and maybe reading my new Kate Wilhelm novel. (Still no DVDs in the mail, but the day is still young.)

And markgritter gets home tonight, and I am very happy about that. We're getting on much better in his absence than we were when I was sick, but, y'know, I still do intend to keep him, and I appreciate him being around to be kept.
getting by

not the walk I hoped for

I am a colossal wuss.

I am not scared by men yelling things out the windows of their cars at me while I am walking my dog. I am not scared by men slowing down to yell things out the windows of their cars at me while I am out walking my dog. Disgusted is not the same thing as scared, so I'm not scared when they do it with three little girls, approximate ages 4, 6, and 8, in the back seat. I'm not scared when they slow down and don't yell, just make it obvious that they're looking.

But when three cars full of men in their 20s and 30s pull over to watch me walking my dog, then drive around the block an improbable twice to do it twice more? Then I am scared.

I make eye contact, and I do not smile, and I lift my chin at them in that way that says, "What the hell are you looking at? Piss off." And I look back up the hill to the park to make sure that the nice old gent and his little granddaughter, the ones I talked to, the ones who petted Ista, are watching me. They are. I wave to them again, and the old man waves a great big theatrical wave, and I don't look at the men in the cars again, and they drive off.

It is the middle of the afternoon in my own damn neighborhood. Before they started pausing across the street, I was thinking about how the green of August things after rain is different from the green of May things, and how good the tomatoes will taste for dinner, and the Veronica Mars DVDs that finally came, and bits of my book that make happy clicking places in my head, and maybe bits of the next book, too. I was thinking of the wedding of my best friend from kindergarten, and of how I walked that very same path yesterday with greykev, and of the water lilies blooming again on the pond. And yes, I was thinking of which yards have large dogs friendly to me and unfriendly to strangers, which houses contain neighbors who know me, which cars would be likely to stop if I needed help, how fast and how far I could run with the dog if we had to. But it wasn't the only thing I was thinking of, until they were leaning out their windows in silence, watching me, just watching.

I am angry.
good mris pic


Took the wee beast for an after-dinner walk as I otherwise would have. Because this is my neighborhood, and if I don't walk the dog, we'll both go insane, and there'll be fewer congenial people on the street for other neighbors who might want to walk their dogs.

So there, jerks in cars.

Okay. I think that means I'm officially doing better. Kate Wilhelm may be a bad choice for something to read when I'm going to be driving by myself to the airport late, but I'm pretty submerged in it now.