Poor me. Perfection.
One of my friend Charles favorite people is David Deutsch who once said, to my delight,
“Problems are soluble. Problems are inevitable.”
My body right now is registering some distress. I almost laughed out loud to say that. A low-grade dysreflexia pushes micro-beads of perspiration to the surface, leaving me feeling cool and clammy, micro miserable as it were.
The little heater, which I have lovingly dubbed R2-D2, sits faithfully beside me whispering away the wet before it can become miserable enough as to become a distraction.
The heater is remote control, operated by my fancy smartphone, by voice if I really wanted to dig in. The day was not as productive as I had hoped, actually moving backwards in some ways.
I spent the latter afternoon procrastinating dealing with the setbacks, by earning a few hundred dollars doing contract work. Poor me. I have good work that nourishes and excites me and pays as well.
Some favorite song whose name I’m not sure I even know echoes wirelessly from the speakers across the room. Voices of two people who love and care for me drift in from the next room.
On the way home from the hospital today, I received a text from the bright young woman that trained with us last evening…
“I had a lovely experience yesterday… I came to the conclusion that it will not be a good fit for me… I enjoyed meeting and spending time with you… I hope you will find… Thank you again. ?”
So close… Back to the drawing board. No news on housing. Silence from the folks neckdeep in formal discriminatory practices. Silence from the property manager on fragile ground with the owner of another place. To hear back from the latter, and good news at that, would be most preferable.
Tomorrow, God willing, we will sign the trust. Elisa will visit for that occasion. Later in the day, an exceptional class which I was able to spend some time preparing for today.
My foot this morning continued to show swelling, and some bruising coming to the surface. The advice was to get an x-ray. We had been thinking to take a drive today, now we had a destination.
Late morning, after breakfast, Nova and Stephanie and I piled into the car, ran an errand, and headed south to the island of Coronado. Under sunny skies we rose high in the air across the bridge, vistas of the Peninsula to the west, open seas dead ahead with islands looming up through the slightly moist air, appeared in our view.
We dropped down into the affluent neighborhood and to the old but respectable ER, now with outdoor tented accommodations.
Our round-trip was four hours. Longer than we had anticipated. New surges of respiratory and pandemic complaints slowing the system.
Stephanie and I headed into meet nurse Jamie at the front desk. We filled out the paperwork in pencil, gave vitals, and not long after were admitted down the makeshift walkway to a white tarp cubicle to await x-ray.
My mind muses at the day, considering a detailed accounting of each movement. How the attending nurse was a dead ringer for Dwayne Johnson, I was surprised to see this movie star moonlighting as Hector. Or Tracy, the middle-aged x-ray tech who moved still like a teenager, though with just the hint of weary, who managed to catch me at a moment when Stephanie had ducked out, scurrying me away into the bowels of the x-ray department to perform graceful and gentle acrobatics getting my foot in front of the machine without taking me from the chair…
But my body persists with this mild discomfort. Like the sandwiches for lunch, good enough, better not to go back for seconds. Sunday morning still remains bare on the schedule, though Nova insists it will be covered, a glaring artifact of instability. Awaiting housing holds up house sale, and care deficiencies hold up moving… Such problems. Poor me.
More beautiful music streaming across the room. More beautiful friends moving about the house. Microphones, computers, spacious lovely desks, friendly faces about town, friendly voices on the phone, friendly hearts radiating from around the world near and far.
Here we are, all distraught, all disheveled, all brokenhearted, such poverty, death and loneliness and prison and separation and somehow in the midst of it all, perfection.
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…