Chummy chump.

I’ve been informed that there has been an increase in yellow-haired people roaming in this city. But because I am currently the only yellow-haired friend my friends have, they’ve been telling me about their sightings to make sure I know I’m not special.

It’s true, though. My decision to go yellow was influenced by a drag queen anyway. Soon to be incorporated in my wardrobe: a vinyl beret.

My cyst mentor asked me yesterday how my lump was feeling and gave it a name: Calvin. It took three hours for that joke to hit me. I was in the middle of mashing my pizza dough when I went, “HOHOHO. CALVIN. I GET IT NOW. CALF-IN!” I promptly texted him to congratulate him on a pun well done.

The doctor’s office never got back to me with the results of my x-ray, so I called the office on Monday. I called through the video relay service, which I am not a fan of, because I feel the need to make myself look somewhat presentable. I know these interpreters are professionals, but they also people I potentially know in real life. More than that, to use this service, I need to be somewhere with a reliable internet connection, which rules out making calls at work during my break.

I had to wait until my day off to learn of Calvin’s origins.

“A small right knee joint effusion is present, but no fractures are seen, and the joint spaces are well maintained.”

Due to privacy concerns, I couldn’t receive the results of my x-rays by email. Instead, I had to wait for the receptionist to dig up the doctor’s notes and text me back on her personal phone so that I could publicize my latest medical information on my blog. I am glad the doctor noticed my well-maintained joint spaces: I try. I don’t know if this means I’m not osteoarthritic after all, seeing how lumps such as Calvin don’t pop up unprovoked.

So, I am getting that coveted specialist referral. Everybody knows how specialist appointments work, right? Before I can get an appointment, the specialist will need to think about it. In a few months, if the specialist goes, “Hmm, ok, I’ll see what I can do,” I might get an appointment for 2028 or something.

In the meantime, the state of my knees remains an unsolved mystery.

I made my triumphant return as a full-time bike mechanic about two months ago. I far prefer this duty to arranging packaged socks on pegs and pointing customers in the direction of the washrooms; however, I had to give up a consistent schedule. I’m done by 3pm some days, and at 7pm on others. Sometimes 5pm. My days off are Monday or Tuesday…. or Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. Rarely Saturday and Sundays. I don’t always get two days off in a row.

That must be frustrating to my stalkers. It’s frustrating for me, too. I understand that I have responsibilities as an employee to lend my skills at times of my employer’s choosing, but I need balance. I hardly have contact with family; I have no partner; and, I have no cats. So, when I’m at home, it’s just me, myself, and I.

I have friends who are keen to go cycling, climbing, or do other COVID-friendly outdoor activities, but with a work schedule like mine, it’s been a real puzzle trying to fit in socio-recreational outings.

See, it’s begun to suck the fun out of my life to the point that I’ve begun to call hanging out with people: “socio-recreational outings.” I’m usually in my pajamas before I eat dinner. Then much of my evenings are spent alone in front of the tv, sometimes watching Antiques Roadshow on YouTube as it’s one of the few regularly uploaded, consistently captioned shows on YouTube.

I don’t want to end my summer with an appalling knowledge of antique lamps. I require sun, laughter, and sweet Keirin legs!

(Strange yet true fact: one of my first jobs had me do jewelry appraisals. I’ve held jewelry worth more than $100,000 and got paid $12/hr to type up reports.)