I don’t know, maybe WP has reached a limit on tags for me. Maybe it’s my ‘puter. Could be a technology curse, I suppose.
When I go to add ‘new tags’, WordPress burps. My cursor is bounced out of the box, and the new tag vanishes. Perplexing. I don’t experience this on other web sites.
Then again, my system was just updated last night. You know how updates sometimes go sideways with small matters.
My work-around was to save the draft, swing over to the iPad mini, and edit the post to add the tags in Jetpack.
Rain hammered the rooftop. The furnace blower sang along. Slowly we crept toward the dawn of a new Thursday. This one is blessed as 11/14/2024. Or 14/11/2024. You get it.
When the lights came up and the blinds followed, our lovely tree lit the back yard, a red and gold exclamation point on a gloomy fall day. Weather hipsters, aka weathings (weather beings, if you need it spelled out) said, this is the day, take it or leave it. 42 F now, and that’s it. Rain is the main course, with a small plat of sunlight later.
We bundled into my wife’s car as the digits clicked toward nine thirty. Had to be there by 10:05 for the 10:20 event. Traffic was light and the rain little slowed us. We were there early. There, our destination, was my post op meeting with my care team ’bout my ankle.
By 11, it was all done. Bloody bandages were cut away, stitches removed, foot and ankle examined, and all deemed good enough to be done with the boot and crutches. Work it out on my own going forward. Elevate if there’s swelling and ice. Otherwise see you in four more weeks. And the boot, the cumbersome black and blue wet suit for my foot and ankle with its velcro tentacles, was no longer needed. I could sit upright if I wantd. The things we take for granted.
Walking was weird. The foot was a little misshapen by the bandages but that worked itself out after an hour. The toes are like they belonged on the tin man and cry for a lube job. That’ll work out, too. But the legs weren’t ready to accept a normal gait. I mildly tilted to the right and still cautiously favored that foot. Bending my knees as I took steps was a mindful process.
Next up: driving.
I’m looking for a place to buy in the northeastern United States and visit Zillow for possibilites. We’re tired of living so far away from our families that we need to travel by car and plane for a day, giving to the weather and technology gods so they’ll favor our journey. Doesn’t seem like it used to be so bad…
Anyway, I checked out a house and realized that it was a street I once live upon. That sent me down memory paths via Google streetview. Naturally, I recalled friends from the time and neighborhood. One of them was Richard. Seeing his tiny house on the screen and his face in my mind rekindled memories about one Sunday morning spent in Richard’s presence. All he wanted to do was sing “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles. Wasn’t high or anything; just how he was. I offer it now as today’s theme music.
Be strong and hold fast. Haven’t had coffee in two weeks. Didn’t want to partake of my dark friend’s energy while I was laid up. That’ll change tomorrow.
I’ve had worse. Others probably have it much much worse. Well it’s not a problem thing. I know they have it worse. But here I am in my boot on my right ankle after it’s surgical correction, whining about how I feel, because that’s who I am. The most frustrating part is that I can’t sit upright for long. But I see my care team tomorrow and I hope that restriction is removed.
I’m doing this on my phone. Basically talking into it. Adding grammar, telling it when to punctuate. Going back, editing the mistakes that my voice makes.
The cats have been taking care of me. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has earned several comfort medals, purring at me from a perch on my chest.
I miss my daily writing. I write notes to myself about what to write and what to fix in my last novel that I worked on. I watch the weather through the open blinds, admiring our tree as it releases it’s newest colors red and gold against the green, bright in the gloomy day as rain falls. My wife and I talk about the election results and how disappointed we were. How disappointed we are.
My sister and I text about the same. She asked me questions about whether Trump can remove generals. Gosh guess what? We text about the Google spike in people searching for can I change my vote. Bitter laughter ensues. No morons, it’s too late.
Have been binging HBO’s band of brothers. The show came on in like 2001. I always avoided watching it back in the day because I’ve been in the military and I didn’t want to celebrate war. I didn’t want to see war. But eventually other options dried up. I’ve been reading books but laying flat on my back holding the book up in front of me challenged my arms. So there it was, band of brothers. And I do enjoy the show I find. As I knew. it is about more than the war, it’s about the individuals finding the war, and their heart breaks and their efforts and their backgrounds.
Meanwhile, the neurons have delivered theme music for me. At least several times a day they play Harvey Danger and flagpole sitta. The same words like to go through my head: “I’m not sick but I’m not well.” That sums it up for me: I’m not sick, but I’m not well. The other lines that resonate with me off and on or, been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding.
Wherever you are whatever you’re doing, I hope you can stay positive, or regain some positive energy. I know you’re hurting, because I am too. Here’s the music. Cheers
MPS brought this wonderful, glorious WTF rant to my attention. They deserve rich credit. This guy expresses all my incredulous rage and disbelief about voter thinking in the last election.
Voter thinking. This guy sharply elucidates the gap between ‘voter’ and ‘thinking’ that we witnessed. Pundits and analysts are out there squawking and bleating about what the Dems did wrong. But for me, it is all about the ‘voter thinking’. Like that 12% of Missouri voters. Exit polls said they were voting for abortion rights and Trump.
Michael Seidel, writer 