In super-recent, as of two minutes ago, news, my mouse has died. I’m using the touchpad instead, and it’s making me feel self-conscious about my tech skills.
9/11 was supposed to be New Tooth Day. The hygienist asked me how I was doing as I sat down in the dental chair. I was bursting with anxiety and confessed, “I’ve had so many setbacks that I’m afraid this won’t even happen.”
It did not happen.
I buried my face in my hands upon learning the news, trying to make sense of the disappointment. I’d already spent a few days in a cloud of negative thoughts, preparing for bad news. My preparedness did not help: I was still every bit as disappointed as I deserved to be.
Then, I had to go home and explain to my adoring fans why I still don’t have that last tooth. I won’t find out what’s going on with the implant until tomorrow morning, when I’ll see a specialized equipment-having dental specialist.
Between the 11th and now, I’ve been trying to rein in my anxiety with positive self-talk, which invariably loops back to feelings of despair. There have been occasional breaks of respite in the form of cycling and crafting. Alexa and I have already begun making our Halloween costumes. At last, I have a reason to make an elaborate Halloween costume: I have an event to attend and people to impress.
As fussed as I am about the unexpected death of my mouse, I recognized my particularity for my computer setup after a few minutes of trying to type on Nic’s crunchy keyboard, where I have to depress each key a half-inch to register a character, thus upsetting my tendons. I’ve been looking after his two cats for the past two weeks. The cats, unfortunately, are not excited by my presence. To them, I am merely a food disposal and a prospector of butt nuggets.
One of the two cats, Jasper, has stopped hating me. PROGRESS. Also, the shower at Nic’s place is powerful and searing-hot. I imagine the first layer of my skin sloughing off to reveal the steaming pink human underneath. It is weirdly revitalizing.
I’ve retired Les Misérables for now and shifted to my preferred genre: Non-Fiction Adventure books, of which Nic had lots. So far, Buried in the Sky is not much more uplifting than Les Misérables, but it’s a much quicker read.
When Alexa and I did our peninsula loop ride on Saturday, we stopped at a coffee shop for treats. My fingers turned white, with the tip of my pinky even turning purple. It was only about 13 degrees Celsius. K2 would kill me immediately.
I was initially supposed to start catsitting on the 4th, but I’d gotten news from Gator that her mom had passed away. Gator and I had been talking about me going to visit her in Calmar, Alberta. Still, many of my co-workers had already booked days off throughout July and August, so it hadn’t happened. This time, I decided I could at least make it out for three days. Last-minute flights to Edmonton are not cheap, but the travel time is only an hour and a half.
I recalled all the old friends who made time to visit me while I was grieving my mom’s death, and how invaluable I found their company. When these friends came to visit me, I knew there was no expectation on my part to be a good host. I found it helpful not to have to process my feelings alone.
The best-priced flight out of Edmonton on the 3rd was also the worst-timed. With the hour time difference, I landed on the 4th, just after midnight. Gator and her brother picked me up and took me to their cabins on Wizard Lake.
There are two cabins: one had no running water, but a working toilet, while the other had running (non-potable) water and a broken toilet. There’s also a trampoline (I got a few bounces in), a fire pit, and a lake.
I was hardly roughing it backcountry-style, but it felt like a true retreat from the city. Gator brought her three cats to the cabin when she moved from Edmonton in July. Her mom had four cats and a dog, which means Gator gets to become a devout prospector of butt nuggets. I aided her in getting four boxes of cat litter from Walmart. Apart from that, the visit felt more like a catch-up with a long-time friend I hadn’t seen in a year. We discussed everything from A to Z, including numbers and even special characters.
On the evening of the 4th, I cooked dinner that got made fun of before I was even done. One of the guests in another cabin was also from BC and laughed when Gator told him I was making us sweet potato black bean burritos. According to him, that was exactly what his friend from Vancouver made when they came to visit.
I am a Vancouver stereotype.
The creation of this dish was made mildly challenging by the cabin’s mostly vintage spice collection.
I have cinnamon sticks in my collection that are at least ten years old. This allspice was so old that it had developed that musty odour. I suggested that Gator take a whiff. She was a bit insulted when I wouldn’t reciprocate. So, I did. Now that the tin of allspice can be on its merry way to the museum. Perhaps it was returned to the spice collection for future guests to marvel at.
Gator taught me about day beds and diamond painting. When she asked me whether I’d ever tried diamond painting, I had to look it up. It was as hideously tacky as I’d imagined, and I also feel like it’s something I’d enjoy anyway. We also had a morbid exchange of information, such as our unfortunate experience with the sprinkling of ashes.
It was the right decision to fly out as soon as I could for a two-and-a-half-day visit. Gator is a friend with the importance of family. Despite the tragedy, it was a wonderful visit. Hopefully, our next one happens under better circumstances.
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