I got the injection in my knee yesterday. It hurt. It bled. Hadn't done either of those things before. The Doc said it could take up to a month to take effect. That seemed new as well. He said different things could affect its efficacy--weather, time of year. . . I don't know. It sounded a little voodooish to me.
"You're the retired. . . uh. . . ."
"Yea."
"So what will you do today?"
"I'm going to the gym now, then lunch, then probably a nap. . . ."
Such things sound good to people who are working. At least he remembered who I was.
I could feel the gel going in. Weird feeling. Afterwards, my knee felt a bit stiff.
At the gym, people asked about my knee bandage. Blood had seep through visibly.
"I just had an injection of hyaluronic acid gel."
A retired judge came over to ask me about it. He's a new acquaintance, a judge whom you might know if I mentioned some of the cases he's overseen. He's a real nice guy. He tells me about the love letters he gets from prison. He's put a lot of people there for a very long time. Murderers, etc.
"Does that help?"
"Yea. I mean, it does for awhile. My knee was hurting so bad, I couldn't sleep. I was having a hard time driving. Now I can do the old man shuffle limp on the track. . . you know. . . . " I performed a pantomime.
He said he gets cortisones shots in his.
"I'm going to ask my doctor about this," he said.
"Some people do it in combination with PPR."
He said he had that treatment on his shoulder before he had it replaced.
"Oh, wow. . . you have an artificial shoulder?"
"And two hips."
He would like to avoid a knee replacement. Me, too.
See? I got out. I talked to people. I have something to report. And it ain't all that.
Later in the day, I went for a coffee at the cafe. I wanted to write a bit. When I walked in, two girls were working behind the counter. For a moment, I thought they were twins. You've seen one of them in photos here before. At the bar sat two girls who work or used to work in the kitchen. They are always together. I've mentioned them before. They look like punk rockers from the late '8os NYC scene. I wanted to photograph both pairs of girls. I had cameras in the car. I was thinking. I took my coffee to a table to try to screw up my courage. Just then a fellow I hired many, many years ago walked up. He sat down. He told me all about his organic greens business. His wife was setting up their booth in the parking lot for the weekly market here. He said he wouldn't be able to do Mondays as he was teaching a night class this semester. We talked about that. Things have changed rapidly in the classroom with the advent of A.I. Everybody uses it, so there are questions. I said that I would have students start there. It would be required. They would bring it in and then rewrite it inserting their own wit and wisdom. We talked a long time. I hadn't gotten to write nor screw up my courage. It was time for me to see my mother.
It is scintillating, you know. . . getting out into the world and all.
My mother wasn't feeling well. I wasn't feeling so hot, either.
"I think maybe we got Covid," I said to here once again. My tenant's 105 year old grandmother just got and survived it. Wild, that.
When I got home, I fixed a drink and sat on the deck. For the third day, no cat. Each time this happens, I think she's gone. The neighbor's cat has come 'round the past two days, and I always imagine he wants to let me know what happened. Yea. . . I'm silly like that.
I went inside and made a quick and easy meal, then went to the computer to cook up some more images. I shouldn't be doing that. I should be organizing things for a web presence, a site of some sort. Instead, I did the photo at the top of the page that has sat in files for what. . . maybe ten years? I like it a lot. I have no place to show it but here.
C.C. texted. He sent a photo of his "Wee Flyer" cocktail and an invitation to a Friday lunch. Accepted. There. Getting out once more.
Before bed, I turned on the television. I have nothing cued up, nothing to watch. Months ago, I tried watching "Baby Reindeer," but gave up after one episode. What the hell. I tried again, episode two. It was short, less than half an hour. I watched episode three. Christ, I can't do any more. That show is too effing weird for me. It is disturbing and disturbed. I need to find something else.
I'll try to take photos today. Maybe. The weather here sucks. It is too hot to go wandering in the afternoon. Sickeningly. There is nothing to do but read and nap, really, and later go to a cafe.
Have you read the news? Do you think there is any hope left in the world? Are we at the end of things, or is it merely the news that makes us think so? If we stand on one foot with our opposite hand raised high and concentrate on our breath. . . you know. . . .
All we can do is pretend "as if." I have two types of friends just now--those who live in despair and those who are fuck-all partying.
"The kids are kind of weird in the classroom. They don't really talk. They haven't been socialized. Everything is on their phones."
They are so beautiful. . . and so "on the spectrum". . . they hardly even date. So I've read.
I drive by a field where coaches have boys in shoulder pads and helmets running into tackling dummies in 90 plus degree heat. They will teach them to hit hard and not cry. It is dumb, but parents sit in folding chairs on the edge of the field watching. Whistles blow. Coaches yell. Boys stand waiting to be told what to do. By summer's end, they will be assigned positions, for many, positions they didn't want. First string, second string. Some will hardly get to play when the season starts. Hierarchies form that will last a long time. Boys will learn if they stand in the center or on the outside of the circle. It will shape them forever in good ways and bad.
Coaches will preach "discipline" and "victory."
I could never stand anyone named "Coach." They all seemed dumb, sadistic perverts to me as did the boys who admired them. I was a good athlete, always an all-star, but. . . .
"Coach said. . . ."
I was always certain to do the other thing.
"How'd that work out?"
"Oh, you know. . . it shaped me or life."
Just as I finished that last sentence, my conservative friend sent me this.
Kismet. I reply.
"Nope, I'm sure everything is fine. God is in his heaven and all is right with the world."
He likes Pangloss.
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