Saturday, March 28, 2015

Oh well

Wow. Again, I'm blogging. Things must be better, eh?

An interesting time, looking at another dark time: I seem to be in a state of "I really don't want to go 'off property' (off MY property, leaving the home and all it contains)" for basically, any reason.

I just want to lie down. Sleep, maybe. Listen to cartoons that warm my heart. Meditate.

But not go "off property." Frankly, getting off the veranda into the back patio is enough. I'm not even psyched to be pushed onto the lawn in the front yard, so I can see and with luck enjoy my front-yard plants. Formal camellias, roses, surprise after surprise; it's quite a nice yard. But wheel chairing over uneven ground makes me uncomfortable; thank God not sea-sick nausea, but it does create a very "off" feeling.

Going off campus involves things I'm beginning to enjoy less and less. The transfer from the chair to the car--transfers of all kinds are becoming less fun because I'm never really sure if I'm going to transfer safely and not collapse or slide off onto the ground. Ouch! And then there's the "riding in the car," which also can addd to the "queasies..." Sudden stops, harsh stops, bumpy roads, it doesn't take much. And of course there's the elimination nonsense, the continual struggles with Alan the bladder.
Today is Tomatomania, source of all sorts of amazing stuff, including magical plants like Black Krim and Pink Ping Pong. But, getting there involves transferring into and out of the car, dealing with the ride there and back, surviving the rough ride over the lawn where they always hold Tomatomania at Descanso (the closest and most "convenient" location), plus the inevitable bumpy paths typical of such places. Then all the stuff gets home, gets planted assuming I or a friend have the energy--and oh yeah, because I don't drive and couldn't well, accomplish anything from the above list, without help from someone else. Who gets to load me and all of my stuff into and out of some car, deal with the transfers while praying that all will go well, do all the pushing over the un-fun bumpiness, help with if not full-on do the planting, and wouldn't it be fun to go to lunch? Oh yeah, except for the queasiness and the transfers. 

Leaving the property ends with, or at the very least involves, unpleasantness. And besides, I just want to be in bed anyway; I don't like getting up for anything beyond making tea; at least that never makes me feel sorry, as opposed to eating, which I frequently find to be necessary at best.

And the question arises, so if I don't decide to deal with the challenges of TomatoMania, I don't get my Black Krim or Pink Ping Pong or Sungold or why not, a Vorlon. Well, my Garden Guy may come up with some stuff to plant, but probably not the ones I'm looking forward to. 

I've lived a lot with "I guess that's not going to happen," I should be used to it, shouldn't I. I don't do things all the time. Like, for example, standing, in a percussion section.
Or sitting at an organ and not only "not falling off," but actually playing it.
Yeah, I don't do those things any more.

Oh well.

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