Late Saturday night, about midnight, my neighborhood caught the edge of an out-of-season thunderstorm.
Most of the storm activity seemed to be in downtown Gate City, but one flash of lightning, a few seconds ahead of the crash of thunder, seemed to have struck something that went up with a bright light like a fried circuit box somewhere...and ever since then, computers plugged in on the screen porch where I work have displayed the message "Unplug your router, turn it off for 10 seconds, and try again." The router doesn't have an external on-off switch; it was installed by the company, with wires connecting one enclosed box to another. I don't want to void any warranties so I've not tried prying into the boxes. I tried unplugging the router. That didn't work. I tried plugging it into a different outlet. That didn't work. Right. Time to yelp for the company's notoriously lackadaisical help. Who knows when they will get around to finding out whether the router can be reset.
Meanwhile, although a sponsor is generously paying for an Internet connection to keep this web site displaying fresh content daily, that sponsor is not getting what person is paying for.
I came into town to work from McDonald's. I just caught a look at my face in their mirror. I look at least thirty years "older" than I did on Monday. Same person, same age; what changed was that the Professional Bad Neighbor sprayed the poison that primarily affects my sinuses on Tuesday afternoon. What he thought he was spraying for, other than spite, I have no idea--the ice thawed enough in the sun that the cats could lick up some clean rain water on Tuesday, before the spraying, but the ice in their dishes never completely melted. Nothing was flying; nothing was sprouting. This fool is visibly harming himself, and if he has any relatives who care whether he lives or dies, it is time they removed all keys to motor vehicles and gun cabinets from any place he can reach.
Yes, I'm sure he is a difficult patient. Yes, all older people in my family are incredibly difficult patients from the point of view of White Nurses From Town, such that visiting nurses refused to visit some of them, because they're not senile and refuse to lie down and die on the schedule that White Patients From Town would do. Keeping keys away from them may mean keeping the keys on your person. For all of my other elders, including the one who had atherosclerosis and picked fights with other shoppers in stores, I have always recommended empathy and respect and, if absolutely necessary, saying "Someone else should do that with you" when they wanted to take long road trips or herd cattle. Their intentions were not evil. The Bad Neighbor is the sort of patient for whom straitjackets and ankle straps were invented. Use them.
If he whines that he's barely even seventy yet and we didn't let other elders be tied down or locked in when they were over ninety, youall will just have to tell the patriarch (God help you!) of your family that he is sicker than any of them ever was, and it is his own miserable fault, and if he has any consciousness of reality left he should use it on repenting and making material compensation for what he has done with his life. Do not allow him to continue poisoning himself and others. Michael J. Fox has only barely reached early retirement age, and he's disabled, because of poisonous "pesticide" spraying...and he didn't even do it.
I like that picture today. Day before yesterday I saw myself in the mirror and looked gaunt and craggy and splendidly preserved. Today I saw myself in the mirror, and yes, that little string of hair flopping down over the wrinkled face, the glassy eyes, the baggy eyelids...well, I'm not looking good, but at least I'm looking bad in the same way a dang fine-looking movie star is! I wonder how specifically that look reflects paraquat poisoning?
Anyway I may look as if I had a bad head cold, but I don't. I know because I could feel the inflammation starting to subside and the pace of dripping slackening, even before entering McDonald's. I caught a lift out with the odd jobs man, and relief started about a mile down the highway. This sinus-ravaged face got me my very first senior discount, and nobody even asked for proof of my age...I don't actually like the idea of senior discounts. I think they should put the price of things from the one-dollar menu back to a dollar for people who are under 50 and not ill, many of whom I could easily work into the ground today. What I paid was the proper price other people should be paying too. But what I have is massive hayfever. It's not contagious. It's not any more fun than it was when I was a child--I had the exact same reaction at age two.
I am still, as you are, a walking sample of staph and strep and mono and many other virus and bacteria that don't cause symptoms for healthy adult humans. If you are especially vulnerable, or have contact with people who are (as cashiers have), do not stand even within handshaking distance from me. We never needed to lock anything down on account of puny little coronavirus; we did need to change our ideas of etiquette away from chumminess and back toward maintaining a good healthy distance.
I've not been able to read any e-books since Saturday, because I had stored them "in the cloud" and not saved them to disk, and I'm not sure whether they can even be saved to disk. I came into town to try. If successful I'll be able to post reviews of the other sweet Christmas romances and cozy Christmas mysteries before Christmas day...there should be a Petfinder post, later today, but it will be short.
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