Ever since switching on the heating in my place, I still found myself asking the question, “Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?”
This gadget is a digital thermometer/hygrometer. So far, the answer has been, “It’s just you.”
I purchased it not for the daily reminder that I am reptilian but because I wondered whether I was having trouble falling asleep with how dry the air had gotten since switching on the heat. It doesn’t help that the baseboard heater in my bedroom is right behind my headboard. Imagine waking up repeatedly feeling like this:
One wretched night, after finally falling asleep, I had a muscle spasm, as is typical when one is stressed and dehydrated. Unfortunately, it was my hand that spasmed, and I’d fallen asleep with it next to my face.
Two days later, Yann and I went for a bike ride. At one point, while we were chatting, his eyes kept darting to my self-inflicted lesions. He later admitted to wondering whether he needed to have a talk with me about meth.
But, no, I haven’t introduced meth into my life; however, I may need to start wearing mittens full-time, like the kid in Malcolm in the Middle.
Scratching my face happens to be one of the first things I’ve ever done in my life, as you can see in my newborn photo. (CW: ugly baby.) I was one of those babies that had to wear tiny bags over their hands to protect myself from my itty bitty, adorable razor-sharp fingernails.
Accidentally clawing my face in my sleep should have been reason enough to break out the nail clippers but, no, I waited until I made climbing plans to get rid of them. The gender ambiguity of my hands has been restored.
I’ve been using my mist humidifier to make my bedroom nice and moist to go with its new jungle motif, and it has helped me sleep. My life is so exciting. No wonder Tammy Milpool’d me when she ditched me mid-conversation to greet a friend she hadn’t seen in a long time. I’m not mad, though. After all, she hooked me up with bulk-priced butter and bags of icing sugar from Costco. She also came back later and apologized for bolting.
Upon Tammy’s re-emergence, I shared that I’d received a text from my sister asking me what I was up to as she was in town. I was on standby for a second impromptu visitor of the day, but it was unclear whether my sister would drop by. Tammy suggested that my sister, too, got distracted by Tammy’s long-lost friend. Tammy must’ve been watching too much Drag Race if she’s throwing shade like that.
The next day, my sister texted me again to ask about my plans for the day. “Work, then mini golf at a friend’s place.” I wasn’t about to cancel my mini-golfing plans for a tentative visit. It’d been more than three years since we last saw each other, but we’d gone for longer without seeing each other.
Well, to my delight, our time apart has been reset to one day. She showed up at my work which was cool because I essentially got paid to talk to her. (The store manager was aware and seemed thrilled that I had a family member who I still talk to.) When I told my sister that she was the first person I’d hugged this year. I could see her eyes water up with pity. (I later realized that this wasn’t true. The other person who hugged me this year was super-spreader Mo: the Delta variant of huggers.)
She surprised me by asking me about my new bike, so I got to show her Ponyboy. See! My life isn’t pure tragedy: who needs human contact when you’ve got a bike this beautiful? She also questioned my mini golf plans. “You made it sound like you’re going to play mini golf *at* your friend’s place.”
This is Alex. He’s the one who got me to catsit Mr. Woo in July. Alex is about to ditch his astroturfed Victoria residence for the greener pastures of Salt Spring Island. He was the first bike shop colleague who warmed up to me. (The rest of them regarded me with great suspicion. Zack probably still does.) Alex also learned enough sign language to ditch the paper and pen method of communicating. So, when I signed his going-away card and wrote that I’d miss him–I meant it. I was also sincere when I called him my favourite musician.
So, the mini golf course was the handiwork of his landlady. It’d become even more impressive since my last visit in July. She repurposed old yoga mats to make a thatched covering for the gear storage space which was inside a tree!
We kind of made fun of the landlady when she started this project, but… the result was brilliant. Brilliant, like the solar powered cow by hole two.
I had the highest score–by far–in our mini golf showdown, which means I did poorly. I may not be a mini golf prodigy, but I am confident that I can, too, design lawn ornaments that will make people go, “What the fuck?”