HomeJuly 15, 1997
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gray humidityToday is supposedly cooler than yesterday but you'd never tell by how much I'm sweating, err, perspiring - ladies don't sweat, they perspire - anyway, it rained last night and early this morning but it hasn't made a damn bit of difference in how miserable the weather seems. We are supposed to rejoice in the fleeting embrace of summer but it's too damn hot and humid so summer can let go the fucking embrace already. Four 1-liter bottles of Stop & Shop sparkling water sit empty on my desk right next to the monitor. Even they're sweating. Wilbur is asleep in the dining room on one of the chairs in direct line with the air conditioner. His desire to keep cool seems to override his desire to be within a nanometer of me at all times. The last weather forecast I heard said tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter. So much for my late father's theory that air conditioning was not worth installing in New England because you only ever needed it for three days in August. Wrong! Fascinating mail today:
self-pityI stayed in most of today except to go to therapy and tell my therapist how much I suck as a human being. She wasn't buying it. I begged off walking with Joan-east and Priscilla because I am a) too hot b) supposed to give up exercise walking because of the arthritic knee. I explained this to Joan-east, yet I still feel guilty - like I'm trying to get away with something. So instead of walking I reorganized my bookmarks file and updated my piping plover page. This took nearly 3 hours. So, not only am I crippled but I'm mentally challenged too! What took so long? Damned if I know. Anyway, I don't know what to do about giving up walking. If I could lose about half my body weight and we could walk on dirt/grass or a cinder track, I could probably do it without out destroying much more cartilage. Trouble is I have to make the cartilage last until I'm old enough to be eligible for a total knee replacement. the phone ringsSo here I am writing my self-pitying whine. The phone rings. It's Nancy just wanting to say hi. It's nice to hear her voice in the afternoon. I picture her in her office hunched over the phone talking to me as I sprawl on my bed in front of the air conditioner. We commiserate about the weather, chat for a bit, and then she has to go. I hang up, then pick up the phone again to check for stutter tone - you never know when I might have developed a life and there might actually be a message there. There isn't. I start back to the office to resume self-indulgent whining, but the phone rings again before I get here. Somebody from North Shore something or other wants to sell me a cell phone with Cellular One service. I tell him I already have a cell phone. He asks who the provider is. I tell him Cellular One. He's very confused. I don't need another phone thank you, bye bye. So back to my journal. the whining continuesI can't even explain what I'm upset about coherently. Every adult diagnosed with osteoarthritis does not immediately decide it's her own damn fault and she deserves to have a knee so deteriorated it's unrecoverable, right? Just me. I know this is my fault. I brought this on myself. Arthritis ain't no big deal, right? I'll be running and jumping and climbing mountains just as soon as I'm old enough for that total knee replacement. Oh hell, I can't write about this is rational way. Shut up now, Janet.
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how about some Bosnia links?which I meant to put in with Sunday's entry. Bobby went back to Bosnia yesterday, so I assume he's there now unless he missed his connection in Frankfurt or something. I should e-mail him the pics from Sunday before I snail mail them - that way he'll get a double dose of family. Hmm, would you want to be part of this family? Which leads me to my next subject... EgansOne day last week, I got e-mail from a guy in Australia pointing me to the Egan Clan Home Page. The guy's name is Kevin and the subject line just said "Egans", so I thought it was from my brother, Kevin, either about the family reunion on Sunday or about babysitting. Imagine my surprise - a Kevin Egan I don't even know. Awhile back I found and corresponded with a Janet Egan in Australia. Oh, do I have to look up the link? Later. I'll back fill. So, like is my family a notorious criminal family exiled to Australia in the penal colony days? Are these Egans related to me? How far back? Geneology could be fun. Another project to waste my time on instead of writing! |