On A Scale Of One To Ten
I have a high tolerance for pain. I’m not saying I feel any less pain than others, although that’s entirely possible. I mean, how would you know? I don’t know what you feel, and you don’t know what I feel. Maybe it actually hurts you more than it hurts me. At the very least, I seem willing to tolerate more pain than most other people. Either somehow, at the grand old age of 57, I have made it this far in life without ever feeling real pain, or the rest of you are a bunch of whiners. I don’t like to cast aspersions, so I will deduce that I am simply not as bothered by it, one way or another. Yes, it’s uncomfortable and I don’t like it, but I’ll put up with it and keep doing what I’m doing.
If you’re ever in pain at a doctor’s office, they’ll ask you to rate your pain on a scale of one to ten. This is a stupid system. It’s too absolute. I begin to think about what a ten would be. Someone skinning you alive or slowly amputating your leg. Whatever the worst pain imaginable would be. That has to be at the top, right? So, if I broke my arm and the bone is sticking out through the skin, that might be a seven. My abscessed tooth might be a five, and my sore back a three. My back might be so painful that I can’t move or get out of bed, but it’s not worse than tooth pain or having my fingernails pulled out with pliers.
I was up half the night with a toothache. It’s somewhat nonspecific. I can’t pinpoint it to a particular tooth; it’s more like my lower right jaw is fucked up. This morning, the right side of my face feels like I’m coming off Novocain, with my lip feeling just a little swollen and tingly. Even my ear hurts a little. With my beard, I can’t see anything out of the ordinary, but it sure feels weird.
I have a Zoom meeting at 10:30 am, then maybe I’ll put a call into the Dentist, but honestly, I just keep hoping it will go away. I had this same tenderness before with a scheduled dentist appointment a few days away, and by the time I got there, it was gone. I hate the dentist. I suppose everyone hates the dentist, but I really hate the dentist. Just the thought of it sends my blood pressure through the roof.
The dentist seems to be getting worse as well. I think they’re trying to discourage me from coming back. It’s torture. I don’t trust the whole operation. I think they get about as much oversight as chiropractors do. They just have more gadgets.
Jane called the dentist to try to get me in, and we’re waiting to hear back. If I were drinking, I’d have a drink. The Tylenol is not doing it. I had trouble chewing grilled cheese. It’s also giving me both an earache and a headache. Being the procrastinator I am, I can’t decide if I’d rather get in today and get this taken care of, or wait until tomorrow so I don’t have to deal with it today.
Summer Break
Apparently, the heat has broken for a few days, and we’re going to get several days of clouds and scattered rain showers. We need the rain, but I fear we’re not going to get much of it, just a lot of threatening looks. It will look like rain, and will occasionally sprinkle and spit, but nothing that’s going to soak the ground and feed the plants. Just a little something to add to the humidity.
The good news, I suppose, is that you get to stay indoors for a few days without feeling bad about it. This is the sort of weather that will cause my wife Jane to stay in bed and read or relax on the sofa. For someone who rarely sits down, this is saying something. She also ends up messing about more in the kitchen. We eat a lot lighter and simpler in the summer. She feels a lot of pressure to be outside doing something, so a clacky day can be a welcome treat. As long as they don’t last so long that they become dreary.
Space Camp
Someone was commenting on how long the International Space Station has been operating continually manned, which is 26 years by the way, in the most extreme environment imaginable. It is impressive. But I also get the feeling that it’s the practical equivalent of living in a cardboard box outside. You see images, and the whole operation appears to be held together by duct tape and hope. When I think about it, I don’t imagine “2001: A Space Odyssey.” I imagine something that looks more like a tree fort built by 12-year-olds out of scraps they found at a local construction site.
I can’t imagine being an astronaut today. You’ve got to have a few screws loose to begin with, especially given that the rockets are being built by the lowest bidder. Your chances of making it to the ISS aren’t even that great, and once you do get there, space debris the size of a grain of sand could blow the whole thing up. Muscular atrophy, radiation exposure, the lack of personal space, or any semblance of normal hygiene. I’m going to go ahead and say that space is out as a viable option for me.
I don’t even like camping.
The Thin Forks Of Diners
I went to a Denny’s the other day for the first time since I was in high school, and you might not be shocked to hear that it wasn’t great. Today, someone was talking about being at a diner, the classic sort with those heavy white plates and thin metal forks, large plastic cups full of water and iced tea, and single-color paper placemats with local advertising on them. The type of place that has pictures of old championship Little League baseball teams on the walls, and loose toothpicks at the register.
I may have to make a second attempt at a decent diner breakfast this week. Just to see if it’s really something I can do without, or if I can recapture some of the glory of what it used to mean to me.
I didn’t grow up going to diners. It wasn’t until college and living in Philadelphia that I learned of the spectacle of arriving drunk late at night, ordering your food, and then nodding off while you waited for it to arrive. You’d be starving and ready to order the entire menu. Five minutes later, you’d wish you’d just gone home and gone to bed. Sunday mornings were a different animal. Now you were hungover, but that’s the best time for a diner. Lots of greasy food, an enormous glass of icy Coke, and a nap are in your near future.
My wife is not a breakfast person, mostly, I surmise, because she doesn’t like breakfast meat and doesn’t appreciate syrup. She’ll eat eggs, but she’s never going to eat bacon, sausage, gravy, chipped beef, pancakes, French toast, or waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. She has more willpower than most.
My wife is not a breakfast person, mostly, I surmise, because she doesn’t like breakfast meat and doesn’t appreciate syrup.
When I met Jane at the shore, I was living in Philadelphia. When I was with her in Cape May, we would exercise in the morning. When she was with me in Philly, we’d go out to brunch. You’ll do just about anything when you’re in love, even if it’s out of your normal comfort zone. Breakfast has never been a big part of our routine. When people come to visit, we sort of tell them they’re on their own. We have fresh eggs from our chickens, and there’s always good bread. We have butter and milk and all that. Here’s a pan, there’s the stove. Have at it.
I do miss a good diner. I may just have to give it one more try.
What I Am Doing Here?
I own the domain of my name and have for many years. I’ve never quite figured out what to do with it, but it’s usually been some form of a blog. I recently redid that as well, and it’s okay, but I’m not wild about it. I’ll keep working on it, but if I get it to where I want it, why wouldn’t I just post all of this there?
The only real advantage I can see is that Ghost keeps up with the maintenance, and I don’t have to worry about the back end. I can use a plug-in to set up my own newsletter, paywall system, or both. It’s not like Ghost is going to provide readership the way Medium does. Why am I doing this other than the fact that I like building new things?
I do like the idea of posting my diary entries in a looser form that doesn’t require me to think in terms of formal essay structure, but I can do that on my own site.
I’ll keep thinking about it.