Since you've worn your pillbox hat.Things have been eventful in odd, subtle little ways, like shifting tides; that's probably a good simile for it, actually, with the move to New York coming as soon as next week. In between packing and such, things are supposed to be almost at a dead halt, but that's not been the case, I've been stirred by all manner of wonderful small things. Like this glass of iced ginger tea, for example.
Emily is working extraordinarily hard; I couldn't assuage the troubles and circumstances that were demanding so much of her, so I simply two-dayed some soap and tea from USPS and hoped for the best. Ginger, it would seem, has all sorts of connotations with generosity and love-potions and such, and with all the work she lends into bending my perspectives and instructing me upon interesting and foreign topics, I was utterly giddy with anticipation to pass something like that out.
Thank goodness I'm fond of ginger regardless, or I'd not have stumbled into that and have decided it was the perfect solution to stress.
Speaking of solutions - Melody, from Rune Factory. Emily compared her to myself recently, because as cheery and helpful as she is, she has that unrealized aspiration and sea-ward longing for her family. Coincidentally, she fixes everything with tea, curry-udon, and baths. If I had someone who shared my modus operandi, it's likely Melody.
Shawn's in worsening health. His delight in morphine is starting to toll on his health, which isn't great to start. I've been trying to twist his arm to get him to apply for Medicaid, so that he gets the actual treatment he needs as opposed to the morphine, which leaves him unstable and needing methadone beside it.
He went in for treatment last night, and they gave him some methadone-like med, but it's only as temporary as his employment unless he gets on something to help him. I wish he would do it. I don't think anyone should have to choose between their dreams and their health.
I've begun to slither slowly back into the roleplay crowd - it's enjoyable and refreshing; the unfortunate thing is, I've been doing one-on-one fluff and such for so long that I'm uncertain how to approach anything without an obligatory stutter. I've got to practice sinking back into the composed and mundane, lest I sour my renewed enjoyment. The troublesome thing about this is that it's such a time consuming bit; perhaps that's alright though, I've time to kill, at least until I reach New York.
I donated blood recently; I'm so close to being done with platelets that I can smell it. Six more weeks, and I'll be free to move onto donating Marrow; depending on how painful that proves to be, I may do it up to three times. To my understanding, it's a minor surgery and they simple drill and suck it from the corner of your pelvic bone. That should be manageable.
Sparrow has this lovely habit, by the by, of penning down all of his goals and to-dos and self-evaluations. It's very slick, and listening to my mother pine at the success of a few extraordinary people, I've requested her to do the same. Sitting with a blank slate in front of me, I penning out my three to-dos. There are likely more, but typically, you go Day, Year, Lifelong:
Goals for Today:
Press out Remi's sprays.
Finish packing the rugs and carry the donations in to the Salvation Army.
Hit one-fifty for my workout reps.
Goals for the Year:
Visit Emily.
Further my rudimentary medical education.
Get a new pair of shoes.
Renew my license.
Goals for Life:
Own a greenhouse.
Visit the sea once more.
Become a full-fledged doctor.
Own a Yugo, Trabant, or Vespa.
