A Case of Envy
When someone publishes a blog under the pseudonym “Large Tony,” in direct reference to the size of his endowment, you don’t necessarily expect a great deal of depth in writing. But whenever I read Tony, I always find myself envious. And his latest blog entry, “The Big One,” seals the case for me.
As one commentor wrote, “If there is one thing larger than your dick, it is your heart.” And what I find myself envying is Tony’s ability to write so well what comes from his heart. Sure, he does write a lot about his big dick, but even those posts have a “je ne sais quoi” to them in terms of insight. The fact I can’t articulate any better what I mean by that only emphasizes why I envy Tony’s writing skills so much.
I told you already about my bad fall last Sunday. I’m doing fine now; thanks for asking. The ankle’s still a bit painful, but it’s bearable.
Well, I’m beginning to wonder if this is just a week of accidents for some of us at my day job. My direct supervisor called this morning just to touch base and she informed me that she had an incident of her own yesterday: she spilled a cup of boiling water on her left arm. She’s recovering already and it doesn’t look like her burn is too serious.
But then she told me about her walk to the nearby walk-in clinic to have her arm checked. She was walking along King Street in Toronto when she heard an awful thud: that of someone hitting the pavement hard. She looked over to the source of the sound and saw that a biker had just received a “door prize” — that is, someone opened their car door and hit the biker. So my supervisor rushed over to help the biker who then said, “Oh AnShe, I’m so glad it’s you.”
It took her a few seconds to register before noticing that the biker was one of our colleagues in the training team. AnShe immediately called 9-1-1 and the cops came, but our colleague the biker decided not to press any charges. Today our colleague is very soar and limping badly, so both AnShe and I wish she hadn’t waive her right to file a report.
So hopefully, if twos really do come in threes, this will be the end of it. But after living through Indiana Jones’ own door-prize accident, I’m really worried about my colleague right about now.
Only Two Sleeps to Go
I didn’t sleep very well last night, so I should be okay tonight. As much as the week is going by fast — the work I’m currently doing evenings is not going well and I wish I had more time — I get these moments when I feel that Friday can’t get here fast enough. As much as it makes me seem like a immature teenager, I just can’t wait to see El Poema again.
We spent more than 2 hours on the phone yesterday evening, and we probably could have kept going if we had had supper. But at the same time, the phone just doesn’t cut it. There are things that are better said in person — the whole “being able to see the body language” thing, I guess. And that goes both ways. It’s little wonder some of us resort to emoticons when writing e-mail. Funny how the phone has been around much longer and we haven’t figured out an equivalent.
It will be good for El Poema and me to spend three whole days together. The only distraction will come on Saturday, when we’ll be moving his stuff to a new apartment. I’m planning on taking him to Québec City on Sunday, an idea he clearly loved. And the suite I reserved in Montréal sounds promising. Clearly I’ll be getting something out of this trip, but my main goal is to make these three days a treat for him.
At one point during our call last night, he said something that I’ve thought myself. “If you weren’t coming to Montréal this weekend and I never saw or spoke to you again, I would always carry a fond memory of you.” Indeed, if the only obstacle to getting to know each other more were the distance between Halifax and Montréal, that wouldn’t be a big deal because I’d already decided to move to Montréal prior to meeting him. But the odds are against El Poema still being in Montréal by the time I move there, and Montréal / Mexico City is an entirely different ball of wax, one that I’ve been thinking about in some ways but also ignoring because it’s far too early days still at this point.
I had a very disturbing dream last night. I was taking El Poema to a very chic restaurant. We had just been seated at our table when the waiter came to us and declared to me (that is, pretending that El Poema wasn’t even there), “I’m sorry, sir, but this establishment reserves the right not to serve his kind,” clearly referring to El Poema being mestizo. To which I promptly got up, punched the waiter in the stomach, then very loudly informed the other patrons of what I had just been told and suggested they walk out with us. And then, taking El Poema by the hand, did so …very slowly and glaring at people as if to say, “You fucking assholes! How dare you kick out a prince!?”
And that’s when I woke up, shaken by anger.
The only funny part of the whole dream is that I would never punch someone, although I do think I have it in me to make a scene if pushed too far. But as for the source of the dream, it’s pretty obvious: I’ve been very disturbed by El Poema’s accounts of the racism he’s experienced in the short time he’s been in Montréal. Racism is unacceptable no matter how you slice it, but the thought that he would be the target of it makes me angry and ashamed of this country I call mine. That brings me to thinking about how racism is generally underhanded in a place like Halifax, but much more “in your face” in places like Montréal. And while either form is disgusting, I have to concede the latter form, being so empirical and obvious, is easier to confront in some ways. Plus, I know I have other (selfish) reasons for being upset about what El Poema has experienced, namely that I would want him to fall in love unequivocally with this country and have no reservations about settling here permanently.
Going Back to Work
I’m happy to say that, although my mind was definitely on other things, the return to work last week wasn’t too bad. In fact, the first week went by very quickly despite a major disappointment: the new project to which I’ve been assigned, which was supposed to start today, has been postponed by at least a month. In other words, all my vacation shuffling has been in vain. Or has it? I think destiny wanted me to be in that little park on Ste-Cat in Montréal the evening of August 10th.
Anyway, although I was ready to get started on the new project, there are still many things I can do to be even more prepared. For instance, it’s been a few months since I’ve done any training with clients. I had reached the point where I didn’t have to follow the screenshots when training a client in any of the applications, but now I’d have to “cheat” just to refresh my memory on the sequencing of screens and so on. So, to bring myself back up to snuff, I’ll be taking a few training requests in the coming days and weeks. In addition to the quarter-time I’m still spending on an unrelated project, I’ve also thought of a few things for which I haven’t bothered preparing, so I’m not worried about how I’ll be earning my paycheque.
I have to say that, more and more, I’m recognizing the day job for what it is: it has enabled me to set aside financial worries (within reason) so that I can finally get a life outside work. As a result, I can’t help thinking of the psychological hierarchy of needs applied to economics. I’d been stuck a long time slightly above the need for basic survival…
Can’t Walk & Think at the Same Time
I would like to say that I move gracefully and elegantly, but really I’m a clutz. You’ve all heard of those who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. Well, I think I’m worse: I can’t walk and do anything at the same time.
Despite the wonderful beach weather yesterday, I decided to be responsible and get some work done. But beforehand, I thought I’d go for brunch at a neighbourhood dinner. And after that, I decided to go to a park at the north end of the Halifax peninsula to take in a bit of sun before heading to the salt mine.
The path leading to said park is paved, blocked to traffic, and runs directly under the Mackay bridge that spans the harbour, plus it’s on a rather steep downward incline. The pavement is broken up in parts and I think I was looking at surreal view of being on the underside of the bridge rather than where I was walking. So the next thing I know, I feel my left foot tripping, then completely losing my footing, and finally flying downwards. It all seemed to be in slow motion and very fast at the same time.
The minutes immediately following the fall are a bit of a blur. I know I fell on my right side, but the first thing I remember is being on my back and just staying there, not rushing to try to get up. I was sweating profusely. Being completely alone, I didn’t feel compelled to rush to get back on my feet; instead, I checked to see if I had any bones protruding from my skin and if I could move my fingers, my arm… And being on a steep incline, I was trying to figure out how the hell I would get back on my feet. I could feel that my left ankle was sore and unstable but my upper right side was also very sore. So how to get up?
Somehow I managed and walked over to a railing on the side of the path. And that’s when I thought for sure I would either throw up or faint …or both. Everything was spinning. It was very hot and hazy, so naturally everything in the distance looked fuzzy. But it looked even brighter and fuzzier as it all spun. I could feel myself shaking, and I had two questions running through my mind at this point since I was pretty sure I hadn’t broken anything: how do I get back to my car (and am I in any condition to drive to few blocks back home), and has this fall effectively cancelled my trip to Montréal next weekend?
I eventually made it to my car, where I sat for a good while and blasted the air conditioning. And then I drove home. Once home, I immediately stripped off — taking the Tshirt off was painful — to give myself a closer inspection; what was remarkable is how the pain was intense despite only having a few superficial scrapings. Then I sat on the couch for a while, where I realized I was still in a bit of a state of shock, and wondered if I should get checked out at emergency. I avoid doctors like the plague, but then I remembered how we all told off my mother last year when she hadn’t gone to emergency after a similar fall. Sure, she’s older and more fragile, but I realized I now had to practice what I preached, plus I didn’t want to worsen something I couldn’t see.
Anyway, long story short, once I felt sufficently steady on my feet, I decided to go to the emergency but via BeeGoddessM and Stephanie to seek their advice on whether or not I was overreacting. BeeGoddessM made the excellent suggestion that I simply go to a walk-in clinic, where it could be determined if my “case” needed to be escalated. And after a thorough assessment, the handsome doctor at the clinic declared he was pretty sure nothing was broken and mine were soft-tissue injuries that could be relieved with icing, rest, and Advil. He also gave me a tetanos shot, which I hadn’t had in decades (if ever).
Moving around in bed was a little tough last night. And when I got up at 4:30 to take a leak, I felt my left ankle not strong enough to support me …but eventually it did. I limped over to the Advil and had another session of icing before returning to bed. This time I slept better. And when I got up, the ankle was definitely very sore but nothing like it was when I had gotten up earlier.
I have to admit this fall has given me a bit of a scare. And BeeGoddessM was right when she said, “Boys, I’d hate to see you when you’re old!” The combination of how I’ve been very lucky all my life as far as hurting myself, and the memory of how my father would turn into a wimp at the slightest cold, gives credence to her statement.
That said, every limpy step I take around the apartment today, I keep saying to myself, “You’ll be okay for the weekend … You won’t be all gimpy when you see El Poema … You are *SO* going to mend by the weekend …”