Everybody hates Portland June but I think it’s great. Also May. We have a taste of hot hot summer and then we go back to the dank and drizzly vibes of late winter for awhile, to take a breather before the hellscape of July and August (“hellscape” is a slight exaggeration, unless there is pristine beautiful river-swimming in hell, in which case sign me up). I am wearing two hats, a scarf, and two sweaters, because every time there is one sunny day my husband turns off our heater even though I tell him not to.
Snoopy had a seizure and it was like, what next!? We barely even told anybody about it because it is so tedious how often there is something wrong with our weird barfy dog. The seizure was very scary. It lasted 45 seconds and then he was totally normal again. A week later we took him to the vet to talk about Massachusetts tick issues and we told the vet about the seizure and the vet basically said, oh well, keep an eye on him. The next day snoop developed a crazy limp and couldn’t use his right foot. We finally figured out he hurt it stomping on our shoe rack and splintering it while barking at the mailman. Basically he is a shitty dog.
Also, I finally got an MRI for my weird leg injury I’ve been complaining about for four years, and it turns out there is straight-up torn stuff in there. Muscle or cartilage or something. Caused by hip dysplasia. I am upset, because why didn’t anyone tell me to get an MRI sometime during the past 4 years and 8 million types of medical professional I went to? The first doctor sent me to physical therapy. The physical therapist sent me to a chiropractor. Somebody I talked to at a party sent me to myofascial body work. The body work lady sent me to acupuncture. My mom sent me to Rolfing. The Rolfing guy tried to send me to a specialist in “intra-vaginal massage” and that’s when I drew the line and went back to the doctor, who immediately said “why haven’t you had an MRI?” I said “I DON’T KNOW, I’M NOT THAT KIND OF DOCTOR.” The MRI revealed that I’ve had a torn-up hip for four years. I am furious. My yoga practice, to say nothing of my love of jogging, has been completely disrupted and now I’m almost forty and it will take forever to get it all back, if indeed I ever can get it all back, because who knows if the orthopedic surgeon I’m going to see next week can even help me. I might be in that Louis C.K. aging zone where the doctor just tells you to take Advil. “Oh, will that cure me?” “What? No, of course not”
I don’t know if you’ve ever had an MRI but they are weird. Also I never even thought to find out how much it will cost, and then somebody at a party told me it would be $1,000 even with my insurance and now I am stressed out.
The MRI tech was very complimentary to me, almost embarrassingly so. His reasons for complimenting me excessively were that:
– I stayed so still during the MRI and
– I did not smell bad like the previous patient
Still got it!
Anyway, what fun it is to live atop this earth indeed. Perhaps one day you too will step through a door marked “DANGER” and “NUCLEAR MEDICINE” and have the adventure of a lifetime.
I am chipping away at my to-do list. It is challenging. The stuff I care most about is lowest in priority because I have all this moving-related shit that has to get dealt with first. For example, finding a house to move in to. I am trying not to freak out.
Should also be writing syllabuses. Should should should. Instead I am drinking coffee, patting the dog, looking at twitter, and feeling bad about not doing anything. Is our primarily cultural mode “feeling bad about shit we ought to be doing instead of whatever we are doing”? If so then we are a lame-ass culture. And by “we” I mean privileged aging hipsters, I guess. Then again, it is Sunday, traditionally a dumb wasted day anyway, and I am recovering from a full day of softball and beer yesterday, for Mike and Alex’s birthday. I ate a hot dog, drank 2.5 beers, was the catcher on a losing team, gave a humorous roast, said “fuck” in front of a five year old, got a commemorative t-shirt, came home, took a bath, and then the old man and I ate an entire casserole dish of mac n’ cheese and I fell asleep while ostensibly watching one of the literally infinite number of 1960s French films that apparently exist and need to be watched by my life partner.
Every woman in a 1960s French film is wearing a very smart skirt/top combo with flats and remains completely unflappable in the face of all manner of unusual or surprising events. The men are all boorish drunks in high-waisted pants, hulking sweatily and chewing great hunks of bread. Everyone listens to jazz and smokes. They will all live to be 103.
i would love to help with places to live in wmass – e-mail me if you are thinking about a certain place/need some advice!
Where does your husband find all those obscure French movies?? I’ve been looking for them!
some of them aren’t that obscure! Others he finds on Ubu Web I think, plus he rents dusty VHS tapes from high-class video stores and school libraries. He also torrents them illegally from nerd websites
I just had an MRI about 5 months ago and my experience was very similar to yours. Apparently they compliment all the girls on staying still. I basically fell asleep, not to brag.
I don’t know what your insurance is like, but mine generated a weird letter indicating that the insurance had covered part of it, and about $3,000 had not been covered, but also that the balance that I owed was $0. I kept expecting to get a terrible bill, but it never came, so good? Maybe? Our insurance system is insane. Anyway, I hope your luck is as good or better than mine.