Welcome to Communist Country


I am so proud of myself right now.  Well, of course I’ll tell you why.  Thanks for asking.

I’m using something I bought.  Like, really using it.  Regularly.  Often I’ll buy a gadget and it sits.  I still haven’t played my pocket trumpet.  Although that’s more of a medical thing than raw stupidity and/or wastefulness.  The iced tea machine.  That’s what I’m using.  It’s great.  I don’t know how long it will last.  The plastic doesn’t seem like the type that will stand up to years of steam, but we’ll see.  And the handheld lime/lemon press.

I made appointments regarding my health for this week.  That’s what I’m proud of.  I’ll have new glasses for the first time in ten years.  I’m too lazy to find the glass coke bottles myself so to the optometrist I will go.  Maybe I’ll get contacts.  Then again I may reflexively totally deck anyone, licensed or not, who attempts to put anything in or take anything out of my eye.

I got a steroid shot today.  The nurse, wearing a Mr. Potato Head shirt, was showing a junior nurse type person how to administer the shot.

“Okay, Mr. Young.  You wouldn’t happen to be a fainter, would you?”


“You may feel hungry and a little bit jittery afterwards.”

“Okay.  Hungry and jittery, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“No super strength?”

“No.  Sorry.”

The assistant said, “That’s tomorrow morning.”

“Then I have a few people to see tomorrow.”

You’ve been warned, optometrists.


Yes, I realize that those are very trite things to take pride in.  But it’s a change for me.  Usually I go to the doctor when I’m in intense pain or have an immediate fear of dying.  “What’s this?  Gangrene?  Guess it’s time to go to Rite Aid and pick up some hydrocortisone.  That’ll probably clear it up.”

Well, this eczema flare up helped motivate me, of course, but still.  And I totally plan on going to the dentist for that second cleaning.  Soon.  Really.  There are some cute nurses at these places.  In the health field.  Yowza!

My apartment is a mess.  I wear a pair of psychological blinders whenever I’m in it.  Sometimes I see through them and can’t take it anymore but I haven’t been able to straighten this place out.  A friend of mine told me that it’s easy.  I said, no it’s not.  She said, yes it is.  She’s the type of person that will start looking for an apartment on Sunday, move in on Wednesday and have it furnished by the end of Saturday.  She says it’s easy.

And it is.  Except it’s not.  I like exercising.  Love it.  And yet I find it hard to work out.  It’s not hard.  You get up, you put on clothes suited for exercise, you walk to the fitness room, you work out.  Done. Shower, go to work.

One of my cousins said, just focus on one room of your apartment at a time.  Or one area.  Bathroom one weekend.  Kitchen next weekend.  Bedroom the next and so on.  Great plan.  Makes so much sense.

So many beautiful women in the Golden Triangle area (downtown DC).  What’s so hard about striking up a conversation?  Nothing.

One can not be powerful if one lets the easy things overwhelm.  If the easy things are hard, what happens when the hard things come along?  Every once in a while you become aware of something about yourself that you didn’t know you didn’t know.

Thing is, if I had a friend or significant other — someone with the same interests or who is supportive because that’s the kind of person they are — all these life things would be so much easier.  They would be trivial.

Why the hell is that so hard to find?

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