Some Like it Hot

It’ll be 113º today in Death Valley, California, 117º in Phoenix, Arizona and it’ll hit 100º in Houston. It’s currently 110º on the island of Sardinia, just off the coast from Rome. This is some unbearable shit, no? I should be grateful that it’ll only hit 85º (with humidity at 90%!) here in Valhalla. Right? *ahem* Yes, I am BUT I still feel like ice cream for breakfast is a good idea.

I’m happy that our wee cottage is surrounded by trees and we get a lovely breeze off the water. I’m extra special glad that high tide will happen at 1:30, close to the heat peak of the day. Ten and I can cross the street, climb down the seawall steps and cool our tootsies in the cool water.

Cake will flop here at home in the AC. Our good boy has zero interest in the great, steamy outdoors. Apart from chilling at the seawall later, same here.

What are we doing to help combat global warming? We have an electric car and stove, recycle, conserve water and, I’m sure there’s a lot more we can do. How ‘bout you?

Hey, did you read about Pvt. 2nd Class Travis King? He’s the Army dude who was in the hoosegow in North Korea for assault. He was being transferred back to the U.S. to face military disciplinary action but managed to escape his escorts. Travis got to the DMZ, somehow joined a tour group and dashed over the border. Why did he make such a spectacularly stupid move? My theories? He’s young, not especially bright and unaware of of Otto Warmbier’s or Sgt. Charles Jenkins’s respective North Korean  fates. OR maybe Travis, originally from Wisconsin, was none too keen on suffering through 110º temps in Fort Bliss, Texas. I could totes see that as sufficient motivation.

Sidenote: In reading a bunch of reports about King, Warmbier and Jenkins, I was surprised by how familiar all the place names were. Why are they so familiar? M*A*S*H—the show, one of my favorites, ran for 11 years—nearly four times the length of the real life war.
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At yesterday’s physical therapy appointment I asked about my damn exhaustion levels (given the new, added balance exercises). I’ve been advised to cut my walking and elliptical action in half and go a bit slower on adding in all the new PT crap. Apparently I’ve been pushing myself too hard. Again. Shocking, no?

Ya know what I’m supposed to do now? Practice standing. That’s right…standing (for three to five minutes at a time). If I rolled my eyes any harder they’d break the sky. Standing—is that some thrillingly advanced shit or what?!

It’s been a little over a year and a half since my last neurosurgery. I SHOULD BE ALL BETTER BY NOW! Post PT, I felt more than a little failure-esque until I remembered that, after the last slice-up, I could barely walk ten feet and that was with a leg brace, walker and two spotters. I had to sit down to brush my goddamn teeth; I needed the chair lift to get up and down stairs; Ten had to take me to the can via wheelchair. I’ve come a long way, babies.

Yes, I’ve a long road to go before I can jitterbug again but I’ll fucking well get there.