Tuesday, September 29, 2020


By eight o'Clock yesterday evening the temperature had dropped nearly thirty degrees to below seventy Fahrenheit in San Francisco. In consequence of which, normal life was again possible. Indeed, my legs still hurt like you wouldn't believe, but a walk with a pipe while growling at night-time kiddiewinkies had become a very real prospect.

[As mentioned in a previous post, the combination of heat and medications prescribed by my doctor is not good; severe oedema in the lower extremities, even swelling in my arms, and something that everyone taking Amlodipine Besylate is probably familiar with, crippling pain in the upper back right near the shoulder blades, shooting into every part of the shoulder. Which made this past weekend at work totally excrutiating. The boss is a young vibrant gentleman of mid seventies, who seriously believes that because he can do it, everyone can.
Those who can't are malingering and lazy.]

After a cup of strong tea I headed out to swear at people with dogs.
There's poo everywhere. Dammit! Pick up after Fido!
And wear your damned masks.

A pipe for growling.

There are times when I feel as young as my apartment mate, who still looks like she's in her early thirties (unless you are good at gauging Cantonese people's ages, in which case maybe mid-forties), and seems to be always full of vim and vigour, except if she hasn't eaten in more than four hours and her blood-sugar is low. For a Caucasian man in middle age (myself) the equivalent of vim and vigour is piss and vinegar, and I do not need to eat breakfast or lunch till eight hours after I get up, what with having a weird metabolism, as do many bachelors.

I am, often, flabberghasted that she puts up with me.

One factor which probably contributes to that is my stuffed animals, as well as my extreme patience with the stuffed animals that live on her side of the apartment, many of which do not always treat me with the respect I deserve. But the main factor is that she's so Asperger that many of my more irritating quirks, and episodes of bad temper, go right past her. What would make other people ask "hey, is something bothering you?", is something she never even notices. Which is quite as it should be. I am frequently grouchy and irritable.
But I do not want people whom I care about to be worried by that.
And if I'm in pain, I am less likely to want any sympathy.

So I am damned well ecstatic that she was completely oblivious to my being in agony because of the hot weather. Well, nearly oblivious. She knew something was not right. But wasn't aware of what, or how bad it was.

When she came home she brought food to share.
Which was extemely kind of her.

[Left to my own devices it would have been just Cheezits and icecream.
Cooking means exertion and heat.]

In that regard she is blessed. Not picking up on clues makes dealing with others' unhappiness easier. The idea of anyone else hurting or in deprivation is heartbreaking to her, but she does not know exactly how close it comes, all around her, every day.
There are many silent people in this city.

[She volunteers at charitable organizations that provide food for the elderly and people who are invalids. Because she is a thoughtful and caring person. But she is shy and unfriendly, and finds dealing with people hard.]

My Aspergers is far milder, I can be more aware.
Day dreams and denialism are my strategies.
Oh, and grouchy social distancing.


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