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Hi. Not a whole lot to report here. Did take two very short walks today, but I think I may be developing an ear infection---very localized swelling and that "smarting" kind of pain, as I've had with a number of pesky ear infections through the years. One of them went so far as to swell an eye shut. Hope this isn't that.
Tried calling the doc's a couple hours ago. Supposedly they're going to call me back, but I'm not holding my breath. They've given me no guidance about the whole COVID recovery thing, nor about isolation; an infectee's left to do her own research on what one is supposed to do (and not do). And my doc's is a major regional medical group.
It just seems we're more and more on our own, as time goes on, and the galaxy slowly (and also very quickly) moves toward collision with Andromeda, at the same time the larger everything is moving further and further apart. The way I feel these days, there's no rough beast, nor any other, slouching toward us or anybody else.
I'm doing a few hours of work a day---did I say that here already? Just finished the annual raise spreadsheet. This was my first time with that responsibility, as there were no raises last year. Our raise pool is small in the best years, and now I see what little power my precedecessor had all those years. Usually at least I like spreadsheets. This one had locked cells with bad formatting and an error, none of which I could fix. I like spreadsheets I can edit liberally. Including for aesthetics.
So I could do that directly in Excel, I went by the office the other day, and the HR guy brought out my work laptop. I dropped off food donations, having discovered how much of my pandemic pantry had expired. (Maybe 2 out of 3 items, though half of those I'll still go ahead and consume myself.)
Last night Tracy brought me Chinese food. I can still taste and smell, I think, but food isn't all that appealing. Probably part of being so sedentary for so long. I opened my step count thingie this evening---granted, I haven't been keeping the phone with me on what little moving around I'm doing, but, dang, what a lull it shows. Over the next little stretch I hope to ramp back up to moving around in the world, but now I'm a little afraid I'll fall right back into step count obsession, and the joyless attitude of monitoring how I do or don't fulfill some numerical benchmarks that may have some use but, I know, are far worse for me in that mindset than they are helpful. This is maybe one of the more complicated relationships of my existence these days.
Right now I'm back on my own computer, though, and I'm really about to post a postcard. Guess I could check whether Dreamwidth has finall gotten back the ability to import content, for my back-up purposes over there. Probably not. And what does it really matter? Practice losing farther, losing faster. So many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
It's not just poems that are coming to me. Another food of childhood ---chocolate pudding, in champagne glasses, with Cool Whip on top, came back last night. I'm regressing? There's that famous silhouette arc-of-life diagram in my head now too.
Think I'm overdue for a nap.
P.D. James is getting harder to take, in The Black Tower. There are "deformed" people in it. One of them remembers a market in London with fondness and racism that the author didn't seem at all aware of. What kind of irony is that? When we know something that the characters don't, it's dramatic irony. What is it when we know something that the author doesn't? it's some kind of distant cousin of the unreliable narrator.
Tried calling the doc's a couple hours ago. Supposedly they're going to call me back, but I'm not holding my breath. They've given me no guidance about the whole COVID recovery thing, nor about isolation; an infectee's left to do her own research on what one is supposed to do (and not do). And my doc's is a major regional medical group.
It just seems we're more and more on our own, as time goes on, and the galaxy slowly (and also very quickly) moves toward collision with Andromeda, at the same time the larger everything is moving further and further apart. The way I feel these days, there's no rough beast, nor any other, slouching toward us or anybody else.
I'm doing a few hours of work a day---did I say that here already? Just finished the annual raise spreadsheet. This was my first time with that responsibility, as there were no raises last year. Our raise pool is small in the best years, and now I see what little power my precedecessor had all those years. Usually at least I like spreadsheets. This one had locked cells with bad formatting and an error, none of which I could fix. I like spreadsheets I can edit liberally. Including for aesthetics.
So I could do that directly in Excel, I went by the office the other day, and the HR guy brought out my work laptop. I dropped off food donations, having discovered how much of my pandemic pantry had expired. (Maybe 2 out of 3 items, though half of those I'll still go ahead and consume myself.)
Last night Tracy brought me Chinese food. I can still taste and smell, I think, but food isn't all that appealing. Probably part of being so sedentary for so long. I opened my step count thingie this evening---granted, I haven't been keeping the phone with me on what little moving around I'm doing, but, dang, what a lull it shows. Over the next little stretch I hope to ramp back up to moving around in the world, but now I'm a little afraid I'll fall right back into step count obsession, and the joyless attitude of monitoring how I do or don't fulfill some numerical benchmarks that may have some use but, I know, are far worse for me in that mindset than they are helpful. This is maybe one of the more complicated relationships of my existence these days.
Right now I'm back on my own computer, though, and I'm really about to post a postcard. Guess I could check whether Dreamwidth has finall gotten back the ability to import content, for my back-up purposes over there. Probably not. And what does it really matter? Practice losing farther, losing faster. So many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
It's not just poems that are coming to me. Another food of childhood ---chocolate pudding, in champagne glasses, with Cool Whip on top, came back last night. I'm regressing? There's that famous silhouette arc-of-life diagram in my head now too.
Think I'm overdue for a nap.
P.D. James is getting harder to take, in The Black Tower. There are "deformed" people in it. One of them remembers a market in London with fondness and racism that the author didn't seem at all aware of. What kind of irony is that? When we know something that the characters don't, it's dramatic irony. What is it when we know something that the author doesn't? it's some kind of distant cousin of the unreliable narrator.
