Thursday, Sheba and I went to Dr. Spencer. (Just writing “Dr.” makes me think of Dr. S. and how I never even think of her any more; I knew when I quit going the second time, it was over for good.)
I think that was my last appointment before the (barely) surgery. Now I just wait—and for a long time. I likely won’t have my operation until May or June. I am one of 178 patients waiting for Dr. Spencer’s surgical attention. I’ve been waiting for just thirteen weeks. Half of his patients get their surgery within thirty-four weeks, the rest wait for up to forty-nine weeks.
It’s sunny and 10°. We went on the community dog walk this morning and the dump truck came by again. I had a very modest seizure and then a migraine—all because, it seems to me, of the damn truck. I just don’t get why a dump truck is triggering me.
I can’t muster the energy to work on my ladies. They’ve stood idle in my studio for a year now. But the emerging plans with the arts council are likely to impose a project on me. The E.D. is keen for a project that will require I write a script for four performers.
There’s been nothing going on in the lot next door but they’re going gangbusters down the street on the house going up there. I find it interesting to watch builders at work; I always have. I love watching people with skills I don’t have at work so I’m looking forward to the build getting underway. However, the quiet until then is heavenly.
My lawn, now two months old is looking really healthy and strong. Meanwhile, in the backyard: Mushrooms. They’ve been coming up in my backyard for about three weeks. They don’t last long and once they’re gone another variety blooms. Here are just a few that have graced my yard:
|Above and below: In the pathway between my outbuildings|
there are scores of these little white ones coming up.
|These are each about 4" - 5" across.|