Learning about oxygen saturation.

Having my gasping while waking up investigated. Ha. I sleep four hours a night, who has time to run diagnostics? It's too bad we can't just use a code reader like on vehicles. Plug it in and say, ah yes. There's the problem. 

I have a reader but it's going to test the amount of oxygen in my blood and how many times an hour it drops. This should be fun. 

In other news, I managed to get my boyfriend back along with my email. But this time I got to level the caveats. Caleb pressed his dark hair down against my light hair and let out a long sigh while I detailed all the horrible things I would let the boys do to him if he hurts me again. It's incredible how emotionally delicate he is with me and how physically careless, almost like night and day. 

And so far I have always politely and firmly demanded, hysterically pleaded and thunderously begged the boys not to hurt him in return. 

This time I will turn lights on them, even encourage them should he cross that line. 

He's not going to. 

I believe him when he tells me this. His hands shook. He could not meet my eyes. He didn't like being cut off, didn't like being left out, wouldn't stand for the lack of comfort he could get so easily before. 

I made him watch all my shows with me. 

(That was I think the only part Lochlan liked. He no longer had to watch episodes of Wanteez. Which is hilarious.) 

I made him promise me the moon and stars and then demanded he not even look at them, that they were mine. I put him on trial. I gave him an apprenticeship. I treated him ridiculously terribly. I acted like a brat. I levelled all of his crimes at him when he protested. I made him repeat them back and reminded him that he will forever be grateful that I allow him to be in my life at all. 

I think he's beginning to see the light. 

But yeah, I took him back because clearly I'm weak and his charm is my kryptonite and we all know that was going to happen but apparently it took longer than people thought it would. There is only one week left of summer. He missed the whole thing. 

(Which is fine, I did too.)

Exercise, fresh air and good nutrition. It's almost like having TB.

Point Perdition has become somewhat of a sanitorium as of late as we struggle to keep up. The house is in good shape, inside chores are done since we can all pitch in while the outside suffers. I went out to the front porch to clear away tea mugs left overnight and an envelope that was on the grass and decided to remove the pretty wire trellises from the flowers since the flowers have been cut back. I brought the trellises around to the garage where I have a stack of them that will remain for winter and then went back up the steps and up to the porch to get everything else and go back inside. Then I had to lie down for half an hour. I have no energy. None. 

Not for sex, not for yard work, not for the painting I want to get done before winter, not for smiling, not for adventurous cooking (or eating, for that matter. Last night I had a handful of chips for supper), not for putting on outside clothes. 

Just wah. 

We are supposed to go to the Roger Waters concert tomorrow night. That will be a haul. Not sure if we'll be able to. Really on the fence. Blessed to be able to not be sad if we stay home, since I've seen him before but honestly sick of missing out too. But recovery is most important, as is never catching this again. It sucks. It sucks so unbelievably much.

Queen of the vineyard.

I was recruited into slave labour again beginning Friday up until last evening late as we attempted to harvest and strip the grapes before the bears ate them all. Bears who up until now have had little interest in the grapes overall, more happy to leave them for the birds, raccoons and humans. Oh and the earwigs. But we worked hard to have a banner crop this year and no less than sixteen separate visits by bears threatened to undo the whole thing. 

The only thing that finally sent the bears far far away was Ben's bagpipes. Loud and proud and obnoxious in the vineyard. 

I say slave labour because the wasps were plentiful and after a good thirty minutes of fretting Lochlan decided I wasn't old enough to be outside and if I didn't get stung I would get mauled or sunburnt, something he muttered after I very loudly asked why the bear would pick me to chew on if they're all outside with me. 

But it was no use and I ended up sitting in the kitchen alone, stripping grapes from their stems until my finger joints felt bruised and soaked right through. We put everything in the freezer until we're ready to start the wine and it's done and the bears, fearing bagpipes, have not been back. At least it means this weekend I don't have to do it, but I still can't bend the first three fingers on my right hand and I am shellshocked and worn out from such an exciting weekend. 

We also started the new Lord of the Rings television show, like everyone else and it's good. I identify with the harfoots, and not at all with the elves. I can't stand the elves. They're so pretentious and horrid. 

I wish, like in the Witcher, that they would break into song. 

But yeah, that's where I was. Also got more meds. And some good stuff for the ever-present eczema rash around my nose and eyes this summer. Having a good time and summer's already over. The sunsets and moonrises have been spectacular however, so there's always a silver lining. 

And the bears are good luck. I have lost count already. 

The Elizabethan age is ended. God Save the King.

Glued to the monitor this morning as the news comes around the realms and the commonwealth that our Queen is dead. I am so sad. Her picture hung in my grandparent's living room when I was a child, and I have always been enchanted by the Royals, as are most Canadians, since she was our queen too. 

A sad day indeed. A spirited, fighting lady to the absolute end.

Back home they are the size of baseballs.

I tossed on my old Billabong sandals to go to Batman's last night. It's a long walk but a pretty one and frankly it's the time of year when my feet are black perpetually and everyone starts complaining. A good scrub helps nothing and so I wear shoes now while I wait for the dirt to fade. 

And the scars but wearing shoes honestly isn't going to help my heart look better. It's ruined and painted over, a pretty pink shade with a glossy finish. Good enough, they said, and pushed me back out into the world. 

I made it through the evening, dinner, the movie (did not stay awake but it seemed pretty good) and then the walk home with Lochlan, who came for the end of the film and to collect me. Couldn't feel the ground the whole way home and then woke up with my foot throbbing painfully at four in the morning. Which, oh well, because my glasses are on Lochlan's night table, my phone is on Ben's, the actual medical magnifying glass we have is downstairs in the kit and the whole house is paused on silent. 

I swallowed two Advil (I hope they were Advil) and went back to bed, looked at my foot in the morning and there was a bunch of little deep cuts in one spot where my heel begins. Fucking HURTS. I figured I dried them out on the sand, salt, water, lack of attention, whatever and then I threw on those flip flops again to go do some gardening and there's the pain again. I sat down and there was a sharp rock wedged in the sole of the shoe, poking right up into my foot. Black tusk after the mist clears. 

It took me a pair of pliers and a half hour to get it out, only to have Lochlan throw the shoes away. 

We'll get you decent shoes on the weekend. 

Hell, no. 

You're right. We should wait for it to get infected and then after they remove your whole leg we'll get you a scooter. 

Can I ride a unicycle with one leg? 

I highly doubt it. 

No way to test that, I suppose. 

Peanut! 

What?

Better sandals. Not foam. Not a dozen years old. Take a little care. 

Yes, Dad. 

So how did last night actually go?

You should have been at dinner. 

That good? 

I don't know, man, the food was great but the scallops were the size of like...peas! 

Huh. Must be a West coast thing. 

Yeah. Must be. 

Let me put something on that cut. 

It's fine. 

Peanut-

Okay, okay. 

If we can get this dirt off. Your soles are brown. 

Cut it with iodine. 

You are feral. I think sometimes they're right.

Fear is the mindkiller (YOU'RE NOT WRONG, FRANK).

Screeching in just in time for the sun to go down. I have a date with Batman in a few to watch Dune over dinner. He has promised Moscow mules and seafood fettuccine. My stomach has been growling for hours in anticipating of a late dinner but I am holding out because he said the magic words. 

You know. 

Scallops and vodka. 

I hope Dune is good. I hope there is popcorn for after dinner so I can stay awake. I'm not very good at science fiction. Lochlan has said he may join us if he finishes working on his latest motorcycle project but he might just meet me at bedtime at home. None of us are moving very fast at the moment but at the same time we are all anxious for routine, or whatever semblance of that we entertain here. 

I got my email back today too. They said at the end of the summer, right? Well that's here now and I blinked and missed most of it anyway. I'll get back on track. 

See you tomorrow, and I promise I won't review the movie since it's been out forever already.

Na na na na na na na na.

 I am still vaguely sick and operating at maybe seventy percent of myself so my time sitting up online has been non-existent and my apologies for that, but who really would complain if they get to lie in bed and drink Aperol spritzes and hot blueberry tea and snooze under the plantation fans with the Poppia song from KCON 2022 playing on repeat?

Not I, said the spider to the fly. 

Plus I have been conserving all of my energy. Today is the penultimate birthday dinner for Lochlan and Ruth (they opted to share their celebrations this year) and I am up and dressed and icing cakes and preparing the big garden table, hoping the rain holds off until after midnight tonight and it's nice. I have a lot of help and I sit down a lot and things are going well. Caleb still kisses way too rough, coffee tastes so bad now and someone gifted us at least a hundred scones and I have no freezer space left so that's all we've been eating for days and days now. 

It's great. 

I'll be back next week for dailies again. Life keeps changing. But the question is, did you miss me?

Stop touching perfect things.

For the record I am sick and cranky and boy do I HATE the Tiny Dancer remake Britney/Elton thing. Hate it. It's awful. Like so bad. So pandering. So on-brand bullshit club vibe stupid ass dumb song I want to rip my face off when ever anyone mentions it. Tiny Dancer was a perfect song. A beautiful song. A song I adored. This Hold Me Closer duet is an abomination. If you need to dredge up a fifty year old song to remake to be relevant maybe rethink your career. Seriously. Fuck this.

Also for the record, Covid is not 'a mild cold'. It's the worst flu I ever had with bronchitis sprinkled on top. It's so bad. I am on day fourteen? Twelve? I don't know. I hate it. On the upside we are all recovering safely at home so that's good.

Eleventh hour announcement: No one is going to Burning Man.

It was an outside hope for me, a chance at a do-over, a logistical nightmare on the best day and an almost certainty for the crazy boy contingent here, led by the least crazy person I know (August) but somehow a pattern that has worked for a very long time. I think I've worked through my intense jealousy, now that I've been an almost died at it and I still wanted to go quite badly for whatever reason if maybe only to have a better time or not leave under medical duress, I guess. 

Instead I can be here under medical duress. 

We all have Covid. All of us. Every last one of us.

Ha.

Part 2.

I finished Keep Breathing. It was really good! It actually ended fairly strong and got very deep all in all, though honestly, well, gawd. The lead actor, Melissa Barrera was incredible skilled at her craft and never once put in a cringe-worthy moment, though as I said I questioned the writing a few times. The bear doesn't come back for the dead guy covered in blood, but the potential suitor AKA office-romance guy gets brickwalled time and time again and just aw-shucks climbs up higher. 

Right. 

I guess the whole thing is a big allegory for people doing what they want to do. Dad wants to protect his daughter from a flighty, absent mom. Mom wants to stay connected though she must be her free-spirit self. Office boyfriend is just enthusiastic about all of it (right or wrong) and Liv (main character) is determined to somehow heal her complete roster of childhood traumas by figuring out how to make a compass and then getting lucky with some well-placed falls into water or soft woodsy spots.

The flashbacks I hated at first finally fit together well enough that I enjoyed both the survival aspect and the human interest, well-lit moments leading up to it. 

The only string they dropped was the bloodied meat bag showing up so many times to her psyche to warn her that someone would be looking for the money and then suddenly this...stopped being a concern? And also to everyone who said the location was the Cheakamus River, I beg to differ. I think some of it was at North Beach and Gold Creek. It would have been safer by a hundred times. And easier to film at.

But very well done. Worth the investment. 

I hear there is a season 2. I hope it's the baby, all grown up but somehow I doubt it. What in the heck would they even do for it? Ohhh! The family with newborn could go on the run away from the guys looking for the money and figure out how to outsmart them with psychology and calming habits. It'll be great. I will watch. 

Also as always the most useful thing you can carry with you for survival/EDC is a scarf. Never fucking fails! Tourniquet, gear-wrapper, flag, blanket, towel, washcloth, rope, pillow, sun protection, bandage, yada yada. I've been saying this for decades. 

PJ, come fight me.