Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

Outing the first: I went to the DJs in a Dive Bar night at the Blue Moon last night because, among other reasons, it was my rebirthday. The promoter, B, introduced herself to me. She told me that the night features young 'uns figuring out how to drive a Pioneer CDJ 1000 and whatever model of mixer board was up there. Yeah, I knew from the "open decks" on the flyer that I was in for something like that, but I liked the music a lot more than I expected to. And the n00bz really did make an effort; there were a zillion of them, each with a really short set. I overheard one of the DJs saying that he pulled up the CDJ manual on his phone right before he had to go on stage. B is also full of fascinating info about the Blue Moon, which has a long (by Seattle standards) and storied history.

I was a good girl, drank all of one beer, and went home at a reasonable hour. Go me.

Outing the second: On Saturday, I was doing crunches on my yoga ball as usual, and when I stood up — too quickly in retrospect — I had a dizzy spell bad enough that I had to hold onto something for half a minute. Dr. Funnyname had asked me to tell him about stuff like that earlier, and then Dancer nagged me to do it.

So I sent my doc a message on Sunday. One visit later, I'm wearing an automated blood pressure monitor that's checking me every fifteen minutes for twenty-four hours. I'm not sure how I'm going to sleep if this thing keeps inflating its cuff every fifteen minutes all night.

My hip is getting better, if not monotonically: accidentally kicking anything entails a couple of hours of pain. Today I tried doing the physical therapy exercises for my knee that I've been doing since '18. That turns out to have been a mistake because now one of my knees hurts more than my hip does. Damnation.

I've got places to go and people to do, dammit.

Lovely dinner last night with former co-worker C at the Gainesbourg. C loves to cook and eat, so she was really into it and had never been there before. Go me! Yes, C's queer, yes, she's cute, but also yes, she's eighteen years younger than I am and monogamously married. I banished all impure thoughts from my head.

I stopped by Marmalade on the way home, partly to check out one of their more exotic gelato flavors* and find out more about the place. It seems to be a family business, complete with a teenage daughter behind the counter. The older dude who I think was the main builder said that one reason it took so long for them to finish was that a business partner backed out, prompting a revision of their business plan. I sense, especially from the older dude, perfectionism and a passion for experimentation. We'll see if that translates into a successful business. They were definitely getting foot traffic in the door, even after dark in November.

By that time my hip joint was complaining, so I bailed on my plans for the rest of the evening. Le sigh.



*Fig & mascarpone. Nice flavor, but the mascarpone freezes with an odd texture.

I missed something when I looked at on call status for work this morning, so I got paged. I didn't handle it right the first time. (Foreshadowing!)

I did get a bike ride in, during which a panel truck turned right in front of me. I remember thinking, 'Their signal isn't on. Do they see me? Will they turn into that driveway?' The answers were no and yes, respectively. I swerved to avoid the truck toward a sidewalk and braked hard, and I ended up wiping out on the concrete, which was still wet from rain. My helmet did its job, my thigh is bruised, one knuckle on my left hand is sore, and my right hip joint is so sore I have to walk very gingerly.

Did I ever mention that the Devil Girl House is full of stairs?

The truck driver & passenger, plus another driver, made sure I was OK. I got my bike straightened out, and went on my not-so-merry way. It was probably pure adrenaline that got me home. I passed my son on the way and we talked briefly. I don't think either of us knew at the time how badly I got hurt.

On call continues to suck, and it's partly my own fault.

And I just found out that Rep. Sarah Mcbride, the newly elected trans Congresswoman from Delaware, essentially rolled over about the vile new bathroom bill that Republicans want to pass about federal facilities.

My difficulty a few weeks ago with having orgasms? Gone. I can't help but wonder if a stress-induced rise in blood pressure "fixed" that for me.

The tic in my eye has gotten better. Yes, I put ice on it. When I wasn't wearing makeup or on my bike.

I should be making fun plans for the near future, or really any kind of plans for the near future, but to tell you the truth my heart isn't in it.

See you at the Merc tonight.

The Wendling tested negative for COVID yesterday, and I tested negative today, not that I had any symptoms. This means that a) the Tickler can come up and see the solstice parade as they wanted to, and b) I can get my hair done this weekend.

Whew!

It's worth pointing out, however, that I agreed to go to the parade without checking my schedule, and I have a hair appointment late that afternoon. The parade starts early in the afternoon — if we're lucky because it's full of hippies. The Tickler is copacetic, though, because they understand how hard it is to reschedule such things. Mental note: propose dinner on Saturday at Issian.

My back is complaining because I spent Juneteenth doing all the housework and errands.

The door to my balcony is mostly glass, and now it's glass covered in translucent adhesive Devil Girls. I printed out a selfie, altered it, and cut the silhouette out with an X-Acto knife dozens of times. Go me!

The weather is perfect in Seattle. Aw to the yeah.

But first: The ease with which I can achieve an orgasm correlates strongly with my estrogen levels. My shot day is Friday. I'm in the "harrumph" part of the week now. That surely isn't good for my messed-up right shoulder.

On to the dream! cupcake_goth was organizing some kind of big Goth event. The invitation, which she'd sent to everybody, was in the form of a video. She warned me that it featured audio of me singing.

My singing wasn't as terrible or dysphoric as I expected, but I didn't remember recording the audio and I didn't recognize the song. The video featured a lot of photos of club nights long past. The overall effect was deeply nostalgic.

Meanwhile, I was trying to watch the video on my phone while walking through a house full of people. I rode my bike to a school where a couple of dozen ladies in hijabs were watching something going on across the street at an elementary school. (In real life, I live a few blocks away from one.) I parked the bike and resumed watching the video, trying to determine when and where the event was going to be. Of course I wanted to go.

I'm already feeling less pain in my shoulder when I get stuff off shelves, put a jacket on, etc. I've only been doing my physical therapy for four days if you include my initial appointment on Wednesday. Mind you, I know I have weeks of this before I get (much of?) the range of motion back in my shoulder. Those exercises that torque my upper arm are not yet comfy.

I got a wild hair and bought loose PG Tips, i.e. tea. Good: it seems to be better tea than what you get in bags. Good depending on the situation: it's really easy to make tea strong enough to let you see through time.

Bad:

• time change
• on call
• people I actually want to hear from texting me right after I go to bed on the day after the time change

Good:

• scheduled physical therapy for my shoulder
• handled on call and other work without mayhem
• Dancer
• the Tickler

The first thing the Tickler told me on our weekly call last night was that her father had surgery to remove a blockage in his heart a few days ago, and he hasn't regained consciousness since. He's in bad shape: Alzheimer's, brain lesions on his MRI, and what sound like TIAs*. He has family there with him, but the Tickler says it's likely they're going down to see him soon. Even if not, they're not going to feel up to going on our planned date on Saturday.

I get it. Hey, it takes the pressure off me for house cleaning and grocery shopping, and it isn't as if I've never gone stag to a play party before, even if I'd rather not.

It's pretty unlikely that the Tickler's dad is going to get better. If not, I hope he doesn't linger. I've never seen the Tickler quite like this, and I wish there weren't so many miles between us now.



*Transient ischemic attacks, often called "mini-strokes".