Tales from the Shark Tank

Note to self: When one is using a walking stick as an aid to perambulation and not merely for display purposes, do not step on the toes of the good foot with the tip of said stick.

Owwww!

I am not a violent person, but every once in a while I really want to swat someone upside the head with a large chunk of wood. Now is such a time. There is a woman I know who bends my ear occasionally. She has recently gotten out of a really bad relationship. Somewhere toward the end of it, her boyfriend said some really vicious things about her physical appearance. He said it calmly and rationally, making it much harder for her to see the sheer anger behind the statements. Something said in a screaming fight can be dismissed; it’s harder to spot the same sort of destructiveness couched reasonably. The result? She’s fighting a serious physically self-destructive problem now, because she took him seriously when he called her fat. As usual in such situations, she’s not fat and he’s a manipulative bastard. He set out to destroy her self-image, and has damn near succeeded. It’s going to take a long time for the damage he did to heal, if ever it does. I hope he stays away from me. I’ll give him a piece of my mind no matter when I see him, but right now? Lacking a chunk of wood, I’m liable to kick him someplace painful. And yes, I’d use the cast.

One of my roles in this household is finder par excellence. Doesn’t much matter what’s missing; probably I can find it. Given the level of entropy that reigns here, that’s a very necessary role. Well, right now I can’t poke into nooks and crannies, nor even step easily over stacked books. That is frustrating not only to me, but to people who are accustomed to saying “do you know where x is” and having me either tell them where to look or get up and locate it. Getting up to hunt is right out for the moment, and since I’m really migrating between my room and the family room, often I haven’t been in whatever room the missing item is in to have seen it. Right now the downstairs phone (a cordless) is on the missing list. Someone else is going to have to find it. Who knows? Maybe someone else will develop that skill over the next month or so.

Sometime back, I found out that a friend with whom I’d lost contact was reading the blog when a comment showed up. That was wonderful, but since the disappearance had been of her choosing, I wasn’t sure how much connection she wanted. Well, yesterday she called, figuring I’d be less busy than usual and wanting to talk, sharing information from books in her personal collection about a shared interest. I’d missed her dearly, and now I know. I have my friend back. I’m a very happy blogger.

Li just gave me a wonderful surprise. I knew she was going to get flowers for her mother-in-law, who just had surgery. What I entirely did not expect was that she also stopped by with flowers for me. That just made my day. I had declared that I was upstairs for the duration and that nothing, but nothing, would lure me down again. I was wrong. Li bearing flowers was quite reason enough to pick up the crutches and brave the obstacle course stairs.

Other than that? Did a fair lot of writing on the project K. and I are working on, trying to hook one bit up with another. For whatever reason, we don’t write particularly sequentially. I’m beginning to wonder if this isn’t the reason for stories told in flashback mode, although I really doubt we’ll do any such thing. Whatever, it’s fun and keeping me busy. My mother-in-law does crosswords when she’s immobile. I write. Each to their own, eh? Managed to hobble down to the neighbor’s as well, as Joseph wanted to play with his buddies and really, really wanted Mommy instead of our housemate. Two houses down should not feel like a victory or a marathon, but there it is.

Joseph has figured out that Mommy isn’t moving much, but that he can bring his books, toys, etc, climb up on the big bed, and that I’ll give him my undivided attention for as long as he chooses to stay. Tonight he was here for an hour and a half, reading to me, doing his homework, telling me all about his day in school with its triumphs and frustrations, pretending to be a bear, and above all snuggling. I was worried that he wouldn’t get the Mommy-time he needs with me not walking. He’s worked it out for himself. I guess I needn’t worry about that one any more.

It’s been a most excellent day, it has. It started with Dorothea’s invitation to play in the PBEM game she’s putting together. Famine to feast – I just started playing in Li’s local FtF game, and now I’ve another in the offing. I’m excited, to say the least. Ars Magica, here I come. I’ve some vague character notions; I’ll have to see how workable they are in the game system. Someone else wants to go for Christian mystic. I’m considering what I can do with a mythic basis. We’ll see. Whatever, it will be great fun!

Nor was that the end of the good news. My client in my juvenile case has decided to change attorney. She wants someone who doesn’t have doubts of her own effectiveness, which I can understand. Mind, I still think once the issue of Bible School gets to the judge, the whole thing will bounce higher than Mount Everest, but let someone else get that satisfaction. It is enough for me to be done with daily hand-holding, 2:00 a.m. angst, and all the rest. This has been a major stress, and it’s headed out. People I’ve spoken to have asked if I’m going to get paid. I don’t have a clue. If I do, it will be a bonus and a pleasant surprise. I’ve learned what I needed to know. I will never take on a domestic case again.

My cast, that is. I debated purple, but ended up with green on the “it goes with my skirts” theory. I foresee wearing skirts quite a lot over the next month or so. I got into the doc this morning (a matter of being a trifle pushy) and I am now sporting a green walking cast that runs from my toes to just below my knee. The biggest problem I foresee is sleeping with the monster, as the outer surface is quite rough. I’ll figure out some way to deal with it.

Meanwhile, I can see an end to the need for crutches. I’m pretty good with the darn things, courtesy of a mis-spent adolesence involved in ballet and gymnastics, but by the same token I hate them with a passion those who have used them but seldom are unlikely to share. And now, once the foot agrees that my weight is tolerable, I will be able to dispense with them without concern for doing further damage. That’s a good thing, I’d say.

As might be expected, I left the hospital with instructions to use painkillers and a prescription for same. This thing is only moderately uncomfortable, but when I want to sleep, I’ll take a pill. Now, I know that this stuff has a high value on the street, but why? Why would anyone want to feel the way that makes me feel on purpose? I prefer to have my brain back, please and thank you!

It’s been interesting. I’ve spent most of a week on learning the ins and outs of small-business grantwriting, with a frame of things Celtic on the weekends. I’m sure a greater contrast exists, but just at the moment it’s hard to think of.

The conference on the Small Business Innovation Research grant-writing was about what you’ld expect. Lots of people trying to learn a lot in a very short time frame and look professional, competent and very worthy of being trusted with the government’s money. A lot of them reminded me of the kid in class who would ask a question just to show he was paying attention. I’m sure you’re familiar with the phenomenon; every class has one or two like that. Mind you, I learned a tremendous lot that I needed, and I think the person for whom I’m supposed to be grant-writing finally got a clue as to why I’ve been asking him for some specific information for months. Even better, there were several sample grant proposals in the written materials, so that I can point to them and say “ok. I need this” and point to it. I also made a lot of good contacts for myself, simply by virtue of being able to look at a government form and distinguish between “name”, “principal investigator” and “preparer”. I’m not kidding. There were a couple of people trying to figure out what went in those boxes. After I leaned over in my usual helpful fashion and explained it, I got asked for so many business cards I ran out. Who knows? Maybe I can make a business out of this. I wouldn’t have thought it was rocket science, but it sure seems to intimidate a lot of people. All in all, it was a useful experience, but it was also utterly, entirely, mindbendingly mundane, mundane, mundane. Did I mention that it was mundane? The sad thing was that I suspect strongly that most of those folks weren’t so inclined, left to their own devices. They are pretty universally intelligent, creative people. They were just trying so hard to fit the mold they thought was expected of them.

After the conference came Rosh Hashonah. I went to a fairly new synagogue (Shaarey Tefilah for you local types), and will be back. I haven’t felt so comfortable in shul in years. It’s very simple; kids are a blessing, not a distraction that the adults might or might not tolerate, and they’re small enough to notice when they see a new face. Joseph had trouble with the noise, and I took him out for his sake, but several people made a point of telling me he could stay, that he was just being a little boy. It was quite a contrast to the congregation I have attended since before I married Wick.

Then, of course, there were the weekends. Last weekend was the Scottish Festival. Some friends took us as their guests. It was wonderful. The music was good, the games fun to watch (though I still don’t see the point of tossing telephone poles cabers), and the company excellent. I also proved to myself that I can still jig without killing myself, and even more (judging by comments from people afterwords) evidently I don’t look to much like a bouncing flour sack when I dance. There was a 20 year old, obviously a dancer, who got up to dance when the music got lively. I’d been sitting on my impulsivity, but once she was up it was all over and I went to join her. It was great – she immediately took to having a partner in crime, linking arms and taking off. It’s good to know I can still do that, and much more to the point, it was fun!

This weekend is the Irish festival, to which Wick and I hied ourselves last night on passes he got from his employer. We had a ball. I got a couple of lovely shawls (ok, I’m not sure that was their original mission, but that’s how I’m using them) and a lovely brooch, heard some really cool music, and got to jig with a bunch of teenagers. They thought I knew what I was doing and asked me to show them some basic steps. Now, I’m not sure how good I am, but I managed to come up with something. We closed the place down. I hadn’t gone for past two years, as I couldn’t without thinking about one of my mentors. He was one of the original organizers, and died the day before the festival a couple of years ago. So I drank a toast to him, and had a wonderful time.

Also yesterday, my housemate found out that she is now employed! She’s been trying for nine months, and someone finally hired her. I understand it; she’d been out of the work force taking care of one person or another for eight years. Most would-be employers don’t know how to look at that. But she’s been hired for a full-time position with benefits, starting on the 27th. I daresay the cheers could be heard by her former neighbors in New York.

Today was a living history event. I went, bound and determined that this time I would manage to dance, and went to learn. Oops. I took a break from writing after talking about S’s job, as I had an elsewhere to be. I was contra-dancing, and my foot slipped. Everyone heard the resulting snapping sound. As the E.R. doc said, this is never a good thing. Unfortunately, what had snapped was a bone in my foot. So now I’m sitting in my bed, my foot on pillows and ice on it, typing away and blessing the laptop because I can use it from here with minimal fuss. I’m more than a bit grouchy about it, too. I mean, I wanted an excuse to continue the trial that’s a week from Monday, but this is not how or why I wanted to do it. Can you say irritable? If not, just ask my son; he’ll explain that it means his mommy. And anybody who tells me I needed to slow down is liable to be shot as soon as I can move fast enough to catch them. On the other hand, I’ve just read over what I wrote. On balance? It’s been a good couple of weeks, in spite of a broken bone.

I’ve just had half a mouthful of dental work done, including replacement of a few worn-out fillings and two crowns. I don’t like feeling as if one side of my mouth has sprung a leak. I don’t like the feeling that the pieces aren’t quite together. I’m sure they are really, but I’m still pretty numb. I thought I could talk, but I got on the phone with my mom and discovered that conversation is decidedly not in the picture yet. Mom is very unhappy about that, as she still hasn’t gotten an account of my visit with my friend K. Oh, well. She’ll get over it. I’ll get over the dental work monster, too. But I’ve just been reminded why root-canal is a standard of comparison for something you really, really don’t want to do.