Mrs. the Poet has had some kind of stomach distress the last several days that worsened last night to a literal case of full pants. Because of her mobility issues from the stenosis and surgery to correct same I was needed to wash her butt and backs of her legs last night. So good part, I got to get hands-on with a naked woman for an extended length of time; bad part that woman was covered in her own wastes until I washed them away.
Another bad thing was I was late(r) to bed and kept getting awakened by noises of the day. I got awakened by someone calling my cell to buy my timeshare, that I haven’t had since before I got hit with the truck, about 1100, then I was awake to help Mrs. the Poet with her shower and medical issues. Then there was something else that woke me up about 1430 that I never identified. Anyway this ended up with me not getting out of bed until after 1700. Mrs. the Poet is entirely unenthused about preparing the meal for tonight, because even the thought of food is bad for her stomach. So I have been contemplating the contents of the freezer and pantry for my big meal of the day.
OK I had frozen burritos for Big Meal (can’t call it “dinner” even though it’s that time because first meal is always “breakfast” no matter what you eat and when) and pork and beans as the side. After midnight I’m gonna have one of those breakfast burritos I got but never saw again for lunch, and then I’ll have the sandwich Mrs. the Poet made when she fixed her lunch sometime about 0600 because I have to timeshift again so I will be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when we go out for dinner Friday night for Father’s Day Dinner (observed because my son-in-law had to work Sunday).
Another annoying thing: we didn’t get any candy because they had a huge price jump this week, and I’ve been craving chocolate like mad the last couple of days. I don’t have many pleasures anymore, and every time I have to give up or lose another one it just irks me even more. I gave up candy, I don’t get long cuddles with naked women, I gave away all but one of my bikes after I couldn’t get my leg over the saddle to ride because of injuring the other hip. All the things I used to find meaning in my life are going away and I’m getting angry about it, or as angry as I can get as depressed as I am.
And as if I didn’t need another reminder of why I stopped covering bike wrecks in this blog, there was a report of a cyclist killed in a hit-and-run next town over in Richardson in a hit-from-behind wreck in my dead-tree newspaper.
Witch on a Bicycle 