Sunday, August 10, 2008

Just EXACTLY How Good of a Morning Is It?

When I went to have X-rays done after my bike crash—nothing proved to be broken or cracked—the X-ray lady asked me, “Can you tell me which elbow was injured?” “Yes,” I said. I thought she was asking me if, when the time came, I would have the ability to say which elbow it was.

“CAN YOU TELL ME WHICH ELBOW WAS INJURED?” she asked again, and in quite an unpleasant tone. She was absolutely the rudest medical person I’ve ever encountered, though I know this was nothing at all in comparison to horrible stories I have heard from friends, and then of course there’s the lady who writhed to death on a waiting room floor not long ago, and I’m sure a million more stories just like that.

I said, “If you’re asking me if I can tell you which elbow was injured, the answer is, yes, I can. If you’re asking me which elbow was injured, it’s my right elbow.”

“Goodness,” said my mother later. “Why didn’t you just answer the woman’s question?” She added, “You should have been a lawyer.” I’m of a literal turn of mind, and took the question, at least the first time, at face value. If she wants to know which elbow hurts, she should ask which elbow hurts.

The literal thing comes naturally, but working in QA for a few years didn’t help: “When you say ‘Good morning,’ what precisely do you mean? Exactly how good? Do you mean this morning or some other morning? In this country and time zone?”

My first night’s sleep after the crash was not all that comfy, but everything has gotten steadily better since, except for my knee, which seems, if anything, to be getting worse. As for the little trench excavated from my right elbow, I put jojoba oil on it, because I put jojoba oil on everything now, and it formed a scab it semi-nauseates me to look at.

The day after the crash, last Friday, I took BART to work and had a guitar lesson in the early evening and then I watched Laurel Canyon. I’d seen it before, but I wasn’t a Christian Bale fan then.

I’d planned to go paint circles around potholes on Market St. with some Bike Coalition members last Saturday, but after my fall decided I’d have to miss that. However, that morning was so gorgeous I thought I’d feel sorry for myself if I stayed home, so I went, after all, on my Bianchi. It’s much less stable to ride than my Marin, but it was a lovely day to be out and about, and it was nice to do a worthwhile project for an hour or so.

Then I went to Rainbow and cooked a pot of soup and in the evening, watched the world’s worst movie: Reign of Fire, starring Christian Bale.

On Sunday afternoon I went to hear my guitar teacher play with his trio at a café in Noe Valley, and then it was on to Eugene’s. I haven’t been to Howie’s in ages, but I’m sure he still does this: When he opens the floor to questions, he says, “Nothing too theoretical. Something that feels alive for you.”

I wish Eugene would do the same. Virtually every question asked Sunday nights is mind-numbingly theoretical. I don’t want to be critical, but I have to wonder how a lot of things that are asked could possibly have any bearing on anyone’s actual life. Eventually I could barely keep my eyes open, and had to leave before the evening was over.

It was about twenty degrees cooler just outside the room, which gets warm and stuffy with so many people in there; maybe sitting closer to the rear doors in the future will help me stay awake.

This past Monday evening I went to see Jack for bodywork. He confirmed that I had been knocked askew, but said that things seemed to be settling back into place. Among other things, to relieve the pain in my lower back, he worked on the place where the small intestines meet the rear wall of the stomach, or meet the something or other. It was uncomfortable, and I feel faintly queasy every time I think of it.

I have to say, the next day, I felt worse, partly due to being newly conscious of my own intestines, but a day or two after that, I felt better.

Tuesday evening I picked up the Marin at Freewheel. The rear light had been smashed, so I figured I would need to buy a new one after getting my bike from Dan, but he had scared up a light he said was “lying around” and put it on, for free. That was so sweet. I was touched that they had taken that extra step to make my bike whole before I saw it again. I love my bike shop.

On Wednesday night I went to see Jeff for acupuncture, plus he rubbed some sort of Chinese liniment on my bruises. He has an exceedingly nice touch, so that was a treat and very comforting.

I wrapped up the week’s self-care extravaganza Thursday evening with a visit to Mike, who was recommended by Jack, for a massage. Mike is a lovely person, and the massage was really nice. I told him I was looking for something soothing and nurturing, not the kind of thing where you say later, “That really hurt, but I’m sure it was very therapeutic.” He was exactly the right person to go to, and I felt great afterwards.

On Friday night, laundry could be deferred no longer. Many other things fell by the wayside this week, such as stretching, cooking dinner, and practicing the guitar. That’s OK.

Today I had a guitar lesson and finally practiced the guitar and talked to Carol Joy on the phone and watched the crime drama We Own the Night, which I liked—Mark Wahlberg stars, along with Joaquin Phoenix—and I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.

I can’t report on the latter, because not far into it, Jonathan Rhys Meyers gets sodomized with something sharp enough to cause him to die later of internal injuries in a bathtub full of bloody water. I had to turn it off at that point. I started listening to SnakeNet Metal Radio instead, which had recently played a no doubt charming ditty called “F*cked with a Knife.” Just so. I guess we can say Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ acting was way too good for someone who doesn’t even like to think of intestines existing.

I’m also going to purge my Netflix list of anything that is likely to be violent in a nauseating way (as opposed to violent in an invigorating and refreshing way).

3 comments:

Lisa Morin Carcia said...

You have Jack for bodywork, Jeff for acupuncture, Mike for massage...now I have a pleasing vision of you lounging on a cloud being ministered to by a trio of hunky nurturers. Sounds heavenly!

Bugwalk said...

It was pretty much just like that. It's only a short step from here to engaging a gigolo, I think, once I get a recommendation for one from a trusted source.

GirlGriot said...

I'm with LisaJean: sounds like you've got an ideal thing going ... the 'cabana boy' fantasy come to life! I'm glad you sound better. How nice that your bike place went that extra step for you.