Here We Go Again

You’ve probably heard about the 28-year-old Siberian lab tech, Darya Shipilova, by now, eh? On September 25th a test tube filled with live samples of pneumonic plague broke in her lab. She was taken to the hospital on the 29th and died two days later. WTF?! 

If caught and identified quickly pneumonic plague is supposedly easily treatable with antibiotics. 

Well, I’ve got questions:

• Wouldn’t the Antiplague Research Institute of Siberia and the Far East have medical personnel, antibiotics and other meds on hand in case of emergency?
• Why did it take four days to get Darya to a hospital?
• Was the test tube unlabeled? 
• Did she NOT know that she’d just dropped Yersinia pestis pathogens all over the damn floor and was now breathing in that shit? 
• Was she NOT masked up? If not, WHY not? I mean, did she not know the dangers of the pathogens she was working with?
• In the days since her dropping the test tube, releasing the plague, and her death, have any of her coworkers left the building, the area, the country? Are they being tracked?
• Are the workers there scientists or just Homer Simpson types? 

189 to 200 contacts are currently being quarantined. Is that everyone who was exposed?

Pneumonic plague spreads from person to person when an infected individual coughs or sneezes, releasing infectious respiratory droplets into the air that others inhale. The incubation period of pneumonic plague following inhalation can be as short as +1 day. (source) 

Disingenuously, Russia has called what killed Darya a "pneumonia of unknown origin.” Sure man.

No worries here in the USA — Brainworm Bobby’s sure to keep us all safe … right?

Looks like we may be in for another Trump Plague. Maybe … maybe not but, given this mashed pea brained administration, we’re pretty much fucked. It’s time to stock up on N-95 masks and remember how we got by during COVID lockdown days. Hint: stay away from other people, especially MAGAts and other anti-science morons.

While pneumonic plague is treatable with antibiotics, you can bet your sweet antimicrobial ass that the rich will be treated first. Meds will be prioritized and stockpiled for them. They don't buy all those congresscritters for the good of the nation, ya know!

Us peasants? Horse paste, bleach cocktails, god fraudster Jim Bakker’s extra special colloidal silver as a dietary supplement, having that grifting televangelist Kenneth Copeland summon "the wind of God” (yahweh farts? divinity toots? creator air biscuits?) to exorcise the plague and, of course, vitamin supplements. Maybe some crystals and "spiritual vaccines” (at the low, low cost of the $100 to see $400 per “dose”) too.

What exactly is pneumonic plague? 

“While the circumstances of this reported case remain unconfirmed, plague is a serious bacterial disease that is treatable with antibiotics, particularly when recognized and treated early,” a spokeswoman for the Department of Health and Human Services said in a statement. “At this time, there is no indication from available reporting of a broader threat to the United States.” (source) 

Sounds like the usual let’s-not-panic-the-public semi-plausible government happy talk. In Russia, while they're putting out the usual Newspeak, they seem to be taking this wicked seriously.

Regional authorities are implementing a “comprehensive set of anti-epidemic measures,” according to Maxim Modin, the mayor of the Shelekhovsky district in eastern Russia, near the Mongolian border.

The inpatient facility at the hospital where the worker was treated has been placed under quarantine, and several departments have stopped discharging or admitting patients, Modin said. Other hospitals in the region have also been closed, according to local media reports. (source) 

IF this plague gets out of control as COVID did, how many will die because of Trump's lies and inaction this time? Think Trump’s cult will buy that it’s a hoax, that it’s only a few isolated cases, this will all be over in a couple weeks malarkey a second time? 

They were stupid, gullible, and trusting enough once. I'm sure a fair amount will double down on the dim yet again.

And here’s something rather concerning (to put it mildly):

Earlier this year scientists in the US used AI to create 16 new viruses from scratch in a move that experts hailed as both a “significant breakthrough” but one that posed significant biosecurity concerns.

While there is no evidence that the Russian lab currently under the spotlight was handling anything other than a regular plague pathogen there are concerns over what is happening in the country’s military labs.

During the Cold War the Soviet Union developed a covert biological weapons programme that only came to light when some of its scientists defected to the west.

Vladimir Pasechnik, a scientist who defected to Britain in 1989, described working on an aerosolised strain of plague and putting it on a cruise missile at a laboratory near Leningrad, now St Petersburg. (source)

On that insane note, I think I’m gonna go shower and then look for a big bag of cookies that need to be decimated. Yup, that’s the ticket!

Measles Fun

Thanks to the anti-vax brainworm bozo, I need to go get a measles vaccine. He’s done the absolute bare minimum to address the surge in measles cases by saying the MMR (measles, mumps, rubella) vaccine should be “readily accessible for all those who want them.”

In the op-ed, published on March 2, Kennedy wrote that while the “decision to vaccinate is a personal one,” vaccines “not only protect individual children from measles but also contribute to community immunity, protecting those who are unable to be vaccinated due to medical reasons.” On Monday, Kennedy issued an official statement on the outbreak. “This situation has escalated rapidly, with the Texas Department of State Health Services (DSHS) reporting 146 confirmed cases since late January 2025, primarily in the South Plains region,” Kennedy wrote. “Tragically, this outbreak has claimed the life of a school-aged child, the first measles-related fatality in the United States in over a decade.” (source)

Gee, thanks you ego-mad, disingenuous, heroin addicted, roadkill eating fuck. You’re well over 20 years late to the game and NOT pushing real, actual, thoroughly tested science enough. It’s totally unsurprising though. Don’t forget, Bobby Brainworm helped inflate the Samoan measles outbreak where 83 children died. He defensively claimed, “I had nothing to do with people not vaccinating in Samoa.”

Sure Bob.

…Kennedy repeatedly refused to acknowledge scientific consensus that childhood vaccines don’t cause autism and that COVID-19 vaccines saved millions of lives, and he falsely asserted the government has no good vaccine safety monitoring. While appearing to ignore mainstream science, he cited flawed or tangential research to make his points, such as suggesting Black people may need different vaccines than whites. (source) 

It’s been suggested that adults, like yurs truly, born after 1957 and vaccinated before 1968 get at least one shot of the, usually two dose, vaccine. Exceptions? Folks who have a weakened immune system due to disease (such as cancer or HIV/AIDS) or medical treatments (such as radiation, immunotherapy, steroids, or chemotherapy). 

Don’t ya know, I’m currently on chemo meds (to halt and, hopefully, reduce the growth of my myriad tumors). I had proton radiation a couple years ago (to limit and/or reduce the size of the monster on my thoracic spine). AND, periodically, the good docs have me on steroids.

Does this mean that I can’t get the vaccine? I’ll need to check in with my neurologist.

The first measles vaccine licensed for public use didn’t come out until 1963. I think I had the virus before then when I was a tiny tot but I forget. Both my parents are gone so I can’t ask them.

Measles spread by breathing air contaminated by an infected person or touching an infected surface. The virus can linger in the air for several hours after an infected person coughs or sneezes. (source)

Great. If I’m unable to get the vaccine due to everything else that’s wrong with me, I’m fucked. Well, not if I avoid people and wear a mask and gloves if I do risk going out. Being housebound is just SO much fun!

Waiting Room Thoughts

So, Ten and I were at MGH yesterday for one of my periodic check-ins with Doc Plotkin’s nurse practitioner. I was stunned to see VERY few people wearing masks. We’re in the midst of another bloody, fucking COVID surge. We’re in a goddamn hospital. There are a lot of sick people here. Specifically, Ten and I were sitting in the Pappas Center for Neuro-Oncology—you know, the brain tumor department. It’s kind of serious shit and yet, there was just one other couple masked up. What the disease riddled fuck?!

I only mention it but thanks to Cheeto, his dipshit cult, the usual anti-vaxxers and other empathy devoid dolts, we’re in the midst of yet another COVID surge. Thanks to all of them, we’re never gonna be free of Trump’s Disease. But HEY, let’s not inconvenience the public in any way by requiring them to wear masks IN A HOSPITAL WHERE THERE ARE OODLES OF SICK PEOPLE!

While I was steaming in the waiting room, I managed to distract myself by scrolling around on social media. Have you noticed? People just LURV to argue. Way too many unbalanced idiots go miles out of their way to, seemingly purposely, misinterpret things that are said.

One mega argument I ran across was about a woman throwing a dinner party. On the invitation, she specifically called out one ‘friend,’ who’s a vegetarian (NOT vegan or possessing any other food restrictions), telling her to bring her own food. WHAT???! You’re throwing a dinner party but, unless you’re a carnivore, it’s BYOFood? 

What's the menu?

Appetizers—chicken wings, Swedish meatballs and Philly cheesesteak egg rolls?
Main course—raw steak, Green Eggs and Ham sushi with bunny intestine wrapped asparagus?
Dessert—Bacon infused chocolate chip cookies, chicken breast pudding and foie gras ice cream?

Here, have some helpful hosting hints from me—a person with slightly better social skills than this banjax brained 'host.'

• If you’re having a carnivore orgy, don’t invite a vegetarian.

• If you're hosting a dinner party, find out if the folks you've invited have any dietary restrictions. It's considered bad form to poison your guests.
  

• Be a good host by making sure that there are a few things which your guests can actually consume. Making pasta? It’s a simple matter to have meatballs or sausage on the side (or have a separate meatless pot of sauce simmering on another burner). Making steak? Have a few meatless sides like potatoes, asparagus, squash, etc. Simple. SEE?
  

Lastly, avoid showing your whole ass by announcing on the invitation that you’re a social incompetent or flat out rude human. By publicly stating that you’ve no intention of being gracious and accommodating to one specific invitee you've demonstrated that you've hit peak crass idiocy and probably vote a straight Republi/Fascist ticket.
~~~
You know when you buy a bag of salad, it inevitably gets all slimy, soggy and brown?

Cookies don’t do that. Just FYI.
~~~
A couple, near Ten and I in the waiting room, were wearing jackets of the same color—a vibrant shade of orangy deep rose. It was adorable and sweet.

Ten and I are adorable too but not color coordinated outfit adorable. No one’s really cute enough to pull that off. Not even Taylor Swift and her footballer boyfriend. Still, when I see couples dressed like twins, I smile. The matchy-matchy business speaks of deep affection.

Okay, I also cringe a little when I see folks like this.
~~~
How’d my check-in go? Reasonably well. Christina’s going to schedule a meeting with my bean surgeon so I can find out about all the potential side effects of the prefrontal lobe tumor excavation. There’s no set surgery date as yet. Christina and Doc Plotkin will review my status and possibly move all my MRIs and such up from May to…dunno…maybe next month. 

Big fun!

Rut-roh

 I’ve been in a rut. What’s your rut look like, I hear (okay, imagine) you asking.

It’s all balance and strength exercising, reading and more of it, dealing with ongoing health shit (side effects or are these new tumor symptoms or my wild imagination? Who the fuck knows but I’m certain that one of the highly educated, trained and lauded docs on my pit crew will fill me in) and then there’s the lounging about doing sad/angry punk-ass impressions of a wasting away Victorian gentlewoman. Busy, busy life but not real fun.

This dull shit gets old. Hells bells, I’M old (just like this tedious routine). It’s past time to get my hemispherical ass in gear and start doing new stuff. 

My initial thoughts?

1) Doodling/painting on large (18”x24”) sheets of paper.

My essential tremors are STILL too out of control to do anything even vaguely realistic but I can play around with colors and see what happens. Fer fucks sake, Matisse changed styles and mediums when his health crapped out—so can I. 

In his later years, Matisse’s health gradually deteriorated. He often had to spend prolonged periods of time on bed rest, or in a wheelchair. Although oil painting in bed would present a challenge, cutting out paper was a technique that could be done virtually anywhere, even when lying down. This technique meant even when he was struggling to stand, he could still exercise the incredible creativity of his mind.  (source)

Also, yes, one of my neurological team is working on the shaking problem. We’re still experimenting with meds. BTW, her name is, awesomely enough, Dr. Goodheart!

The extra added benefit of doodle/painting—since I’ll be working at an easel and will need full range of arm movement, I’ll be standing while scribbling. Standing for even a few minutes at a time counts as balance rehab work. Thus, I get unbored AND stronger at the same time. SO. MUCH. WIN!

Now to explore what I’m able to create with these shaking, twitchy hands and head.

2) Though COVID is back on stage (Ten and I are getting the new booster shots on Monday), careful travel IS possible. ROAD TRIP!

I’m mobile enough to manage short walks, small museum visits and gazing down on gorgeous landscapes from lofty mountaintops. A northern New England trip it will be. Given that our trusty and zippy steed (Godzilla) is fully electric, we’ll need to map out a route with public charging stations in mind. Also, we’ll want to take Cake with us. He’d get lonely if we left him on his own. Yes, Jen and Oni would visit BUT our good boy is used to us being home with him almost 24/7. We don’t want to give our little Angel Butt a complex or anything. We aren’t monsters, ya know!

Extra added benny of the trip? All the research (hotels which allow cats, electric car charging stations and sites we want to scope out) will keep me from doomscrolling.

There must be other new things I can do to pull myself out of Rut Valley but what? My first thought is always let’s go hear some new, rad bands! Yeah…cool but I seem to be deaf. Have been for the past 19 years too. I would have thought I’d be used to that by now.

Nope.

3) Ten and I could explore new places to lunch. Yes, COVID is back but midweek suburban lunch hours aren’t exactly hopping.

We went to a place yesterday which—pre-COVID and before my two years of surgeries and inpatient rehab—I liked. Sadly, it’s lost its charm. The place always tried to come off as upscale (complete with condescending, snooty maître d’). In reality, it was a comfortable, mid-range joint—nice furnishings though. They had decent waitstaff, good bartenders and decent food (though nowhere near enough veggie options). Now? The food’s bland as fuck (in comparison, Gerber’s baby food is wildly seasoned) and the maître d’ (a different one yesterday) is still a prick.

Time to explore other, more interesting options.

Thick as a Brick

I would think that most people would know by now that COVID is far from done with us.

Nope, it ain’t and nope, most people don't seem to understand this.

At Cake’s vet appointment on Tuesday no one (besides Ten and yurs truly) was masked. Granted it’s not a crowded office but the exam rooms are tiny. There were four of us (+ Cake) in a space no larger than 10’x10.’

Then yesterday, Ten took me for a walk along the seawall. It was a beautiful day—sunny, not at all windy and not a person in sight. Then, a third of the way down the path, I spotted a woman walking in our direction. We stopped so I could put on my mask and see if she’d move onto the verge to pass us—if she walked on the grass versus the seawall path her maskless self would’ve been a safe-ish six to ten feet from me. No, she did not. In fact, as I squeezed against the seawall (I believe I may’ve been attempting to climb over the concrete barrier into the bay—desperate times/desperate measures and shit), she came closer and stopped. What the fucking fuck lady?! Do my mask and walker not reek of immunocompromised? Is this and my wobbly gait not a huge tipoff to stay six feet (preferably more) away?

I’m a bit embarrassed to say that, when she didn’t just wave hello and pass on by (nope, she started a convo with Ten), I became dramatically passive aggressive. In a weak, fearful voice (or so I imagine), I asked Ten “has she passed by us yet?” Fer fuck’s sake, I was looking right at her when I said this. Yep, this was NOT one of my finer, more adult communication moments. She did however resume her walk at that point.

Post walk, I asked Ten what she had said to him. She had asked if I was okay and said she was a nurse and could help. Bast almighty, spare me from the well intentioned yet blindingly obtuse. I would have thought a nurse, of all people, would understand the concept of proper precautions/behavior during a killer airborne pandemic.

Thanks to an anonymous commenter, I read that six feet is not enough (especially when unmasked).

Research with the coronavirus that causes COVID-19 supports the idea that 6 feet may not always be enough. In one study, researchers found the transmission distance of the virus may be up to 13 feet. (source)

When walking around the grocery store and mall it’s actually easier to keep a cautious distance from potential plague carriers. We go at off hours, there are people about but no crowds—some are even masked like us.

Why not do my walking at the mall or supermarket every day? Have you seen the shop windows at your local capitalist emporium? Does the cereal aisle at your grocery store captivate you as much as the sea might? No? Yeah, color me unshocked.

Over the past bunch of years (since TAB shuffled off this mortal coil actually) my dreams are generally about struggling to get out of heavy, muddy construction sites without being killed or maimed by heavy equipment or swinging girders. Why? The answer came to me yesterday. It's because I’ve been under (re)construction for a lot of years now. Bloody COVID and the general population's slow-witted and insensitive nature doesn't help.

I know I’ll never be fresh-outta-the-box, brandy new again but, fuck man, I gotta work it. As my little buddy Yoda says: "Do or do not. There is no try."

Spavined
     adjective
1: affected with swelling.
2 : old and decrepit : over-the-hill.

Donna becomes slightly less spavined with each passing month.

Thick as a Brick—Jethro Tull

Consideration Won't Kill You...REALLY!

I’m now at the point where, if it’s 40 or more degrees when I leave the house for my first walk of the day, well damn—it’s warm out. Next step in the winter acclimation is when 40 degrees feels like a damn heat wave. I start thinking about shorts and tank tops. I guess I’m ready for winter, eh?

That was yesterday morning.

Ten and I were out for the morning walk along the seawall. It was 6:30 but a surprising number of folks were out dog walking/poop scooping.

An aside: the walking/poop scooping business is a not insignificant factor in why I’ll never have a dog. Cake, Coco, B.O.P. and Ralf never needed to be walked and, while I had to sift the litter box a couple times a day, that beat all hell out of taking Spot out in the snow, rain, flying octopuses or what-have-you at 6AM and then having to pick up the squishy turds and carry them home to the garbage. No thank you!

Back to our seawall crowded with canine servants though—when I’ve been in this overpopulated sitch before, the dog people usually get off the sidewalk, onto the grass strip (at least six feet from me) and wait for me to pass. Why? These nice, considerate, health minded folk have doubtless noticed that I’m piloting a big-ass walker, wearing a mask and being held onto (or followed closely) by Jen or Ten—spotters. My whole being is a huge billboard screaming HIGH RISK! Also, the sidewalk's not so wide. The vast majority of my fellow early walkers are observant, kind and smart.

Yesterday, I found the neighborhood dimwitted assholes. It was clear, as they smugly walked toward us with their dogs and steaming takeout coffee cups, that they were NOT going to so much as go single file and shift to one side of the paved, rollator friendly, path. Before they were within six feet, I lifted my walker up onto the verge, pulled my wool scarf up over my mask and faced away from them until they passed.

Of course they weren’t masked and OF COURSE I caught the weird looks they gave me—like, what’s her problem. They were clueless, lacking even a microscopic shred of awareness and just generally devoid of the important skills found in people who human correctly.

Just FY-fucking-I, the plague/COVID is still very much with us and on the rise. Again. If you see a person using a walker, wearing a mask and being spotted, get the motherfucking fuck outta the goddamn way! It won’t kill you to be kind but your lack of consideration may kill me.

I swear, I could’ve been a six foot tall ambulating plague molecule and these Caramel Brulée Latte slurping stool collectors wouldn’t have moved. NOOOOOOO, they’re fucking king and queen of the seawall—everyone/thing moves for them! 

Interestingly, in this morning’s high winds (there were white caps!), Jen and I were out there hoofing it but the seawall royalty (and their coffee) were not. I suppose Fido and Buddy had to just poop in the yard or just hold it.

Being a human was, in general, not a thing she thought one should be proud of.
~ Vivian Shaw, Grave Importance

Fried

Some days, the simple acts of waking, performing my morning ablutions and getting dressed really need to count as rehab exercising.

Truly.
~~~
I got another get vaccinated message from MGH. I’ve had four so far. The first was the Johnson and Johnson which was a one shot/all in one deal versus two like Moderna and Pfizer.  My last booster was in September. I’ll check in with my PCP before having another shot BUT if it’s time for another one I will,. Of course I will—I'm not an idiot AND I plan on living a bit longer.

The note from MGH said that it's particularly important to be boosted if I fall into any of these eleven categories:

√ Cancer—No, I don’t have cancer BUT the chemo pill I’m on is primarily used in battling lung cancer. It’s been clinically proven effective in reducing my kind of tumors,  (though results aren’t in yet as to whether they’re working for me specifically). At any rate, the pill weakens my bod’s ability to fight off nasty shit.
√ Chronic kidney disease—I don’t have kidney disease but those babies are compromised by Nf2.
√ Chronic liver disease—No liver disease BUT I do have a hemangioma (noncancerous tumor) camped out in my liver. Thrilling, no?
x Chronic lung diseases
x Cystic fibrosis
√ Dementia or other neurological conditions—NO on dementia (YEA!), yes, absolument on the neurological front.
x  Diabetes (type 1 or type 2)
√ Disabilities: A disability is any condition of the body or mind (impairment) that makes it more difficult for the person with the condition to do certain activities (activity limitation) and interact with the world around them (participation restrictions).
x Heart conditions
x HIV infection
√ Immunocompromised condition or weakened immune system

Awesome...I fit into six of the categories. Just fucking lovely.
~~~

All in all, this past week has been an utter wash out in the rehab exercise advancement department. I’d high hopes—I was gonna walk faster and farther, do more on balance training. Man, I was gonna be walking along the seawall without the rollator. Two steps forward is always followed by one or more steps back. Ah well, there’s always tomorrow.

And speaking of rollators, I came across an all-terrain version which includes an attachable long gun bag. How convenient!

The rifle bag attaches to the main frame and it relieves your back. The seat is of course very practical when waiting for your prey. (source)

This is perfect for all your death dealing yet mobility challenged loved ones. Makes a great Christmas present!

Last Blooms

Now that the clocks have gone back an hour I can once again take my dawn walks along the seawall with Jen. During the workweek we have to go before she needs to get ready and leave for the print shop. Our window of time—where the sky is light enough for me to stroll without toppling ass over tête and when she departs for the job—isn't huge and gets smaller the closer we get to the winter solstice.

Yes, yezzz, once the limited light days of late autumn/winter hit, Ten will take me for dawn walkies. That's totally awesome but I also treasure my outings with Jen. That and I'm always worried that I'll exhaust them with my stupid levels of neediness. Until I can go for rambles on my own, I try to alternate.

In case I haven't mentioned this a zillion times before, dawn is the best time of the day. It's chock-full of hope and promise. Plus, with respect to walkies, there are few to zero humans out at that hour. I can take the smooth seawall path, stopping every time I catch a particularly captivating scene. No risk, no rush.

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,
At whose approach, ghosts wand’ring here and there
Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,
That in crossways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone.
~ Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream - Act 3, scene 2 where Robin Goodfellow reports to Oberon about Titania and Bottom

Ghosts gone to their worm infested cots—GOOD. Almost no potential plague carriers out and about—double plus GOOD! The colors of the sky, water and flowers at dawn are magnificently vivid. What's not to love?

What caught my eye this morning? The last blooms of autumn.

Zombie Walk

While I slept relatively wonderfully last night (I'm older—sleeping straight through the night is a distant memory), I still had a hell of a time with my morning routine. Damn chemo side effects.

My plan was to do the usual half mile seawall walk but attempt to walk at least part of it without the rollator. Yup, I was aiming to fly solo. Sort of. Jen and Ten would both be there to spot me. They were.

Problem—with the chemo driven issues *ahem* I wasn't able to get out of the house until after the sun was well above the horizon. It's a brilliantly sunny day—fabulous BUT, even with my cap and sunglasses it's hard to see. Also, at the later hour (post sunrise) everyone's out walking Spot, Fido Ralph and Francesca. This means that I need to have a mask on if anyone's within half a block of me—consequently, my sunglasses fog up and I can't fucking see.

ARGH!!!

We did manage to stroll a little bit along the seawall (pics below) but performed at least half of my rehab routine on side streets, in the shade. The main point here is that I did about a quarter mile without the walker. Sure, I'm mostly promenading like a zombie—arms stretched out at my sides like a spectacularly clumsy balance beam walker, each step hesitant as all hell—BUT I DID IT. Progress...cool!

Aside from all that, the water's really pretty at sunrise.

Our good Cake totally knows how to chill.

Morning!

What a beautiful weekend! I actually got out for a nice walk yesterday. As luck would have it, I didn't lose all that much strength and endurance during my two and a half plague-riddled weeks. HUZZAH! 

This morning I'll finally return to PT. I know I said I was going back last Thursday but COVID had other ideas—it wanted me home, coughing and gasping for a breath. Yeah, that was big fun.

Jen, Oni and I watched the last of the six Obi-Wan Kenobi episodes last night. Damn, it was good. My only complaint is that Obi-Wan didn't kill off Vader when he had the chance. I mean, what the Jedi-ed fuck? 

Did Obi-Wan think Darth was burnt toast anyway (this time for sure!)? Did he want Darth to suffer a slow death? OR was our man Ben being a softy? It was enough for him to know, to finally recognize that Anakin had totally gone to the Dark Side. He wasn't Ben's little Padawan anymore. No need for an ultimate end—we're just not BFFs anymore. Did Ben not grasp how many innocents would die because Darth lived? Where's the logic, the strategic, long range planning in not finishing the fucking job? Similarly, if we don't prosecute the shit out of Trump, all his cohorts and allies, they're just gonna keep building that Death Star.

Emmmmm, I think I gotta let this go. At least for this morning.

We also watched another ep of Van Helsing. This show isn't about the 19th century monster killer, Abraham Van Helsing. Nope, it's about his descendant Vanessa Van Helsing, a more than human/less than supe, accidental monster hunter. Apparently she just fell into the gig. Yeah, I understand. I didn't go to college to work in the print industry but, well, that's where I landed all the same.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
~ John Lennon  

Maybe after this morning's PT, I'll still have enough energy to run an errand or two AND walk down to the seawall. HEY, it could happen!

Back to Work

Now that I’m scourge-free, (tested negative yesterday) I’m headed back to outpatient PT. Today’s appointment promises to be disheartening at best given that I’ve not exercised much at all during these past two plague-riddled weeks.

It’s a sure thing that I caught COVID at PT. Why? It’s the only place I’d been, apart from my own house and the seawall (and I’m always masked when on my walks).

Naturally, I’m a little trepidatious about going back in there. Given how intensely contagious the Omicron COVID-19 variant is, I’m planning to wear gloves and an N95 face mask while I work out. Might be overkill but staying alive is kinda my jam. Ya know?

I've been lucky to have not caught the plague before now. I'm thrilled that the vaccine and boosters kept me from being in worse shape. I'm NOT happy that my ongoing (and seemingly endless) recoveries from all the damn surgeries and radiation has been interrupted.

Keeping up the momentum is hard fucking work.

Today

I’m now in my seventh day of COVID symptoms. Shit’s getting better but I’m not back up to walking a half mile or more a day yet. I’ll need to ease into this. 

Unsurprisingly, I’m really sick of easing into things. I want to go out and run a mile. I want to peddle up to Wollaston Beach and back. I want to hit Nantasket in the pre-dawn hours, camera in hand, and wait for the brilliant color shifts on the sand, water and sky.

Today I’ll shower, go downstairs, wander around the kitchen, maybe sit on the porch, breathing in the scent of the hot sun on the shells and pebbles exposed at low tide. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel up to a walk down to the sea wall.

Stupid plague.

Not my day

On this day, six years ago, The Amazing Bob, Oni and I went into MGH for a checkup/followup appointment withTAB's oncology nurse practitioner. Shit did not go well. So…yeah, I’m more than a little down today.

Also, since I still feel like schnauzer shit, I figured I ought to have a COVID test. I wanted to make sure this is just a bad cold versus the plague.

Jen had four (we had none) BUT apparently ALL the tests were missing a vital part—the test couldn’t be done without it. Great.

It seemed unlikely that I have COVID, considering how much I avoid human contact, BUT it’s certainly possible. The branch of Spaulding Rehab that I go to for outpatient PT is at the local Y where almost no one is masked. Yes, the Spaulding folk are but that’s it. I've not been in close contact with anyone besides my PT.

In any case Ten went to CVS to pick up a couple of tests. BOTH have come up as positive for COVID antigens.

FUCK!

Jen is now calling my PCP to see where we go from here.

Bits and Fluff

Our good Cake

Tomorrow will be Cake’s two week anniversary as a formal resident of Valhalla (we’re all ultra formal here, don’t ya know—you can’t show up to dinner without your spats on and shit).

Jen has suggested that our boy is a vampire cat. She made this astute observation way back when Cake would only venture out from his bolt holes in the evening and early morning. This timidity lasted all of three days. Why do I continue to feel that there’s substance to Jen’s reflection?

Fangs. When Cake yawns, boyhowdy, he looks like he could exsanguinate a cape buffalo standing 50 feet away. Okay, possibly I’m engaging in a weensy bit of hyperbole. Maybe a holstein from 25 feet?
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In my ongoing attempts to keep from drowning in a sea of despair (COVID and covidiots, MAGAts, my ongoing fucked up health and unending rehab action, GUNS, the Republi/Fascist Party, the January 6 Committee hearings, etc.) I picked up a book equivalent of a rom/com.

Yes..a rom/com book. I generally eschew the genre because, while I wholly enjoy the unreality of fantasy and science fiction, rom/coms are just way too pat, reductive and weak—like Disney versions of Grimm’s fairy tales. I’ll take the gritty, more realistic version over the candied shit every day—slogging through the harsh patches makes the happy endings a metric fuckton more sweet.

And yet, I found myself at the door of Rainbow Rowell’s Attachments.

Beth Fremont and Jennifer Scribner-Snyder know that somebody is monitoring their work e-mail. (Everybody in the newsroom knows. It's company policy.) But they can't quite bring themselves to take it seriously. They go on sending each other endless and endlessly hilarious e-mails, discussing every aspect of their personal lives. (source)

Breakfast of Champions!

First: I wouldn’t call Jennifer and Beth’s emails ‘hilarious.’ They were amusing, sure but never reached When Harry Met Sally, let alone Algonquin Table levels of wit.

Second: despite myself, I definitely liked the tale. Yes, it was predictable and almost entirely unrealistic but it was fun. Fun is good. I might even try another of her books.
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On the health front:

• I’m getting my second booster shot this morning. I’d have gotten it sooner if not for my proton radiation marathon. I’m very much hoping the shot's side effects are minimal. OF COURSE I AM!
  

• In PT yesterday, I began working on walking withOUT my walker OR a cane. I made it from one end of the living room to the other. TWICE! This probably doesn’t sound like much but, to me, this is huge. What it says to me is that YES, I will be able to walk unencumbered once again.
  

I’m PSYCHED!

THIS is how It's done

Today's story is by my fearless, tart-tongued friend Steve, an artist living in St. Augustine, Florida. He was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa and severe Glaucoma at 50 and is, at this point, almost entirely blind—no longer able to paint.

 Steve's, smartly, still wearing a mask when out and about. Why? Self-preservation, babies—COVID is in no way over.

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I've been looking for some top-quality hiking boots for walking Gakko (his dog) -- all my walking shoes have done some serious damage to my feet. Someone suggested I stop by "Tractor Supply," saying they had a nice selection . . . so Mom & I pull into their parking lot. I pull out my covid mask and put it on -- I still wear it every time I enter a store -- especially one I know that will be full of deplorable trumpanzees. I turn to Mom and say, "well, this ought to be interesting. IF I'm not back in 15 minutes, I've probably been murdered for daring to wear a mask.”

I walk through the front door, and within ten feet of me are the cashiers. One calls out to me and asks if she can help me. I reply that I'd like to see some hiking boots. A grotesquely obese, tall redneck, covered in tattoos and wearing a bandana, was having his purchases rung up -- he hollers, "Take him to the ladies shoes, 'cause real men don't wear masks.”

I calmly and with a smile replied, "Real men don't insult old, blind men just to boost their shitty egos upon the backs of others -- that's what cowardly bullies do." He steps away from the cashier and comes at me with his fist raised and says, "I ought to beat the shit out of you right here for saying that." I replied, "Go ahead. Beat the shit out of me in front of all these witnesses and surveillance cameras to prove to everyone you haven't aged a day, emotionally or intellectually, since your prepubescence. 400-pound, Ahmed is going to really enjoy you in prison for a decade or two.”

Several people in line erupted in applause!!! Then, the disgusting redneck started shouting incoherent babble inches from my face. While wagging my little finger in the air, I calmly said, "Really, you've already proven you're barely human, and now you want to over-compensate for the serious shortcomings in your pants -- it's best to stop your insanity now." He gritted his teeth, snarled at me and stomped out of the store without finishing his purchases or paying for them.

I then asked the clerk if we could now take care of business since the show was over and the clown had left the building . . . she laughed, people in line laughed, and I was led to the men's shoe section.

I bought a pair of nice hiking boots and headed to the car. Mom immediately asked what was going on in the store -- she said some huge, dumpy redneck flew out the door screaming, jumped into an old, beat-up pick-up, squealed his wheels and flew right into traffic nearly causing a wreck. I told her a pathetic trumpanzee had just been "bested" and humiliated. Mom laughed as I relayed the story to her, then we drove off for mocha frozen coffees with an extra shot of espresso . . . my will power kept me from getting a Boston creme doughnut to go with the frozen delight. 

(all artwork is by Steve)

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THIS is how it's done!