Realtor Day

Both walking Her Highness on the Rickie Ave. trail and vacuuming the house exhausted me. Perhaps part of the reason for my severe fatigue today is that Fred woke me up at 5:00, and so I got up. I am so tired out by everything, but tomorrow I finally see Dr. Dorsheid, my pulmonologist. I desperately hope he can identify the cause and, hopefully, treat it—or, at least, slow the progression of failure.

It was a dull day yesterday. We did a long morning walk and then I came home to live my full life as a domestic. At noon, I collapsed on the couch for a nice warm nap by the fire. All the benefits of that nap disappeared when I logged into my email. All, and I mean all, of my emails are gone. I got a notice from Shaw/Rogers saying my quota for messages had reached its limit and that emails had to be deleted. I called for technical help but gave up after being on hold for over an hour. My links to my appointments with Drs. Dorscheid and Shoja are gone. Fuck. 

Someone told me to watch Emilia Pérez, but I can’t remember who. Henceforth, I shall write down who gives me film suggestions as well as their recommendation. I don’t know who to thank for the referral. It’s a brilliant film (the director) and unusual film. The benefit gala scene, oh my God! The gun choreography! I absolutely loved the film. 

Someone also recommended Black Doves. I felt certain to like it because Keira Knightly, Ben Wishaw, Sarah Lancaster, but I hated it after one-and-a-half episodes. I won’t be going back, either.

Today, we walk with our friends and then Tina, the realtor, comes to visit. The afternoon will be slow and quiet.

Rant & A Realtor

I watched a movie Saturday night that turned out to be far more interesting (and painful) than I thought it would be. It’s about a gay couple who are divorcing, and that quickly leads to the brutal and passionate fight over custody of their son, Owen. 

The writing is good, the custody battle feels real, and to complicate our opinions and feelings—we the audience—in deciding who should gain primary custody, Owen is black as is one of his parents, and the biological son of the other. I really enjoyed the film.

However, there were tears and heaving because as the plot moves into the custody battle, it infuriates me and pains me to see the powerlessness of Owen. His voice is not part of the process. So many of us are disgusted by photos of the largely male, largely fat, largely old politicians opining and voting on abortion. Well, rightly or wrongly, I feel that way about children being chattel to their parents, custodians or the court. Adults and agencies own children. No child is free.

Most of my anger about what happened to me with the Tyrells, is directed at the church and the state who did two things that make me want to murder: the championed the rights of my parents to privacy over my right to know my paternity and lineage. And neither the state nor the church who ran the orphanage, did any follow-up on their placement. My biological parents, my custodial parents, the church and the government all betrayed me.

I am a master crack slipper.

Forgive the rant, and please don't think to yourself, "get over it" or "move on." I can't. If I Could, I would be the first person to self heal from the double whammy of C-PTSD and FND>

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Sunday was pretty great. It was sunny and bright all day, we did two walks, one up a hill that kills me to climb. And I Zoomed with my fellow BC stutterers. It’s a small group, but we’ve become good friends. I am deeply attached to them. Then lunch. Then a wee bit of reading, and then the hill.

Then it was time to build up the fire, so I went to the farthest woodshed, twenty meters (?), and came back carrying one large and one small piece of wood for the fire. I was heaving for air once I dumped them on the hearth. What to do? What to do?

I wrote to the realtor I like, and she is coming here on Wednesday morning. I’m going to ask for an appraisal and tell her I’ll be in touch once I understand my breathing problem and my prognosis. I’m going to ask her how one can manage the risk of selling before buying and tell her I am willing to go onto the big island for the right place. My objectives are to limit work and have less cash in real estate and more in the bank.

A move may be afoot, and it breaks my heart. This place is perfect, especially for the cats. The cattery I built for Fred and Ethel is a godsend to us both. I barbeque in there during blackouts because it has a roof. Ideally, I will move to a smaller place here on Gabriola.

We walked late in the afternoon and happened on an ex-student of mine who was walking his dog, a young dog who was very excited to meet Sheba. His excitement caused his owner to leash him, and to tug and snap on the leash and often to strike the poor little guy. It was very upsetting. I could hardly wait to get back in the car and come home.

And what a joy to come home. I love Pinecone Park and my life here with Fred, Ethel, billions of wild birds, and Her Highness.

House for Sale

Saturday was another gentle day. We had a short walk under dark, ominous skies in the morning, but the afternoon was clear and bright. Our afternoon walk was uplifting. We walked the Elder Cedar trail. Mid-afternoon, I got an email from Jay and his sister, Kelly, inviting me for a lasagna dinner. They asked me to come at 4:00. It is the earliest dinner call of my life.

I had a good sleep midday and read in the early afternoon, and then I saw an ad on Facebook for a house just two blocks from mine. It’s for sale for $425,000—a bargain, and I’d love to be able to get it. I may call the realtor today. I shall seriously think it over. But I’d have to make an offer pending the sale of my house and that could be an impossible challenge.

Here's a link to the house that interests me. It’s for sale for 425 grand, but it’s assessed value is 999 grand, so there’s got to be a story. I shall continue to think about things.

Jay’s new place is really lovely. He has an incredible view of the ocean and lots and lots of space. I had a great time visiting with him and with Kelly, and I really enjoyed telling Kelly about the Thursday Murder Club and giving her the first two books in the series.

By 7:30, I was ready to come home, and once home, I went to bed early. I have become someone who loves going to bed. I get positively excited as I am flossing and brushing my teeth. I love getting into the chilly bed, getting cozy warm and feeling Sheba against my back. Heaven!

Today I Zoom with my Canadian stuttering friends, and then I’ll chill and read the day away, but because it’s bright and sunny, our afternoon walk will be a very pleasant one.

What Makes Me Fluent

I love Sade. I love her voice and her gorgeous gracious self. This is her latest video. It is a tribute to her trans son. What a mother! Fuck Trump, the Republicans and all the other haters.

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Thursday was another slow day. I was up early to walk Sheba in the half-light of dawn before going to Life Labs for a gazillion tests. I’m going to struggle to make a success of my sputum analysis, but I’ll do my best. Once done, I hurried home to be ready to Zoom with my UK stuttering/FND group. And what a session we had!

Over the past month, I have worked hard on our mailing list because we knew people on it weren’t getting our messages. Yesterday, it was positively thrilling to log in and find out group size had more than doubled. What a wonderful reward it was for me to see such a great response.

When the Zoom session was done, I went to bed. I was tired. And the rest of the afternoon, after my nap, was diddled away on YouTube and reading. The night was like every other: movies, snacks, cuddling with the pets and a nice warm fire.

Friday began with a walk with our friends, and then I had a long Zoom call with Cathy before lunch. After lunch, we all just hunkered down in the house. It was dead silent all day, now that Dave and Ursula have moved into their yurt house, and Dave has started working where Ursula works, so I don’t see them much anymore. When it is cool outside and looks so unwelcoming to me, Mr. Sissy, who loves to be warm, I love being indoors with a roaring fire.

When I was talking with Cathy, she noted my fluency and complimented me. I told her that my fluency with her was due to her. I’ve known for a long time that my capacity to speak depends entirely on the situation and, more than anything, the person with whom I am speaking. For example: border officers. 

All my life I’ve hated crossing the border. All the officers who speak to me do so with a tone of suspicion. It makes me nervous and so I become mute. It’s the same for most of us with psychoneurological speech disorders. It’s such a problem, the American officers now will make appointments with people like me and an officer meets us who interrogates us courteously.  

It's not up to me what happens whenever I speak. My subconscious is in control and decides the level of disorder I’ll have at any given time. I love my talks with Cathy. She is always happy, I can hear her happiness in her voice, and my fluency proves the depth of my trust and affection. I explained all this to her, and then I thought of something. To test my theory, I did an experiment with Cathy I had never done before. The idea came to me as we were talking.

I said to her, “Watch this.” I was speaking like I knew what would happen, but I didn’t. I just new that my speech was tied to my emotional connection with the other person. 

I closed my eyes, and as soon as I did, I could not say a single word. When I opened my eyes, my fluency returned. I repeated the whole thing and again, I became mute. I proved to Cathy, with my fluency, how good I feel about her, and I think that’s a wonderful aspect of my condition. I can prove I love and trust you with fluency. 

Some people on the spectrum are blessed with spectacular skills. Many great creative people suffered ill mental health. I think being able to prove my love and trust is my superpower. 

I am fluent with my four-legged family. Duh. They have the most beautiful faces in the world, and all I see is trust when I look at them, and it’s like medicine for my soul.

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Pinecone Park is looking mighty nice, considering we’re in December. My Hellebores and Fuchsias are blooming, and it’s tidy everywhere. This is new. This is Henri. He’s not coming back until February, when he comes to prune all the Ferns. I’m so glad to have him.

Come Springtime, when the garden is looking really good, I’m going to have the realtor over to talk about the value of my place. I’ve met a female realtor here whom I like. I see my pulmonologist this week. Come the spring, I expect to know why experienced a sudden loss of power, and what that means for my future. Plus, I’ll have the evaluation of my home, in case I want to have more cash on hand as I become more dependent on assistance services.