A strange natural phenomenon occurred last week. The North Texas Hellscape got something known in other circles as weather. This evidently happens due to a number of meteorological and barometric conditions that aren’t usually present in North Texas, causing the temperature to actually decrease to the point that it became livable outside. A great hew and cry went up across town, with people shouting something about the End of Days, but before anyone could organize a grocery store run to buy up all of the beef jerky and bottled water, the more familiar temperature extremes re-asserted themselves and we are now looking at a number of days in the 100-plus degree range.
Thank God that’s over with. I was starting to feel like a human being.
Week Three Update
The drains are still in, and oh brother, I’m feeling it. Well, not feeling it; I mean, the tubes don’t hurt. But in this instance, they are literally an albatross around my neck. I’m in a holding pattern for what comes next, you see. My body is still, apparently, healing from being sliced open like a dead tauntaun on Hoth, and in order to do this, it needs a lot of protein and also some carbs.
I know my body is still healing because the output from my J-P drains continues unabated (though it IS slowing in production of late). Once the drain output is under 30 ml in 24 hours, I get them removed. That will mean that my innards have stitched up enough that there’s no more room for said fluids and goo to build up. Hence, no more drains.
This is a good thing, because while I can walk just fine (and have been, with Janice and Sonya), because of the surgical tubing, there’s a lot of other things I can’t do, not really. Things like Yoga, where I need to do things like stretch the very area where those drains are attached. I’m nervous about things like the elliptical machine, as well. Between the hoses and my binder, I just know I’m going to end up pantsing myself on some very expensive gym equipment, and then they won’t let me come back to the junior college. You can’t un-see a tumescent scrotum, folks. You just can’t.
To make matters worse, I can’t get back on the Ideal Protein protocol, either! The protocol strictly monitors protein intake, as well as carb intake, and it also converts the liver to a fat-burning machine. These are fine, if you aren’t trying to heal up from being sliced open like a dead tauntaun on Hoth. But when you are in recovery, those two things will fight with one another, and that’s a battle I don’t need.
It's bad enough that I have to pee in the shower, but now, thanks to shifting and what-not, my urinary output has bifurcated into one of two distinct categories. The primary flow is high, free, and clear, the aforementioned 75 degree parabolic arc that requires I stand at the far end of the bathroom in order to hit the shower drain. I call this “The Bifrost,” and Heimdall himself would be pleased at this.
The other, more recent development happens when I have to go, but can’t quite get the Airstream trailer out of the garage in time. Urine sprays out of me intermittently, creating alternating streams and sprays, much like when you put your thumb over the end of the garden hose. I call this “the sprinkler,” because it’s exactly like those old three-phase sprinklers we all had on our front lawns in the 1970s. You know the ones... “Chik-Chik-Chik-Chik-Chuk-Chuk-Chuk-DiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggiDiggi...”
I shower five times a day now.
So, I’m in a holding pattern. I feel fine. I’m ready to get on with things like wearing pants again, and doing Dude Yoga, and all of the other things I know I am capable of pulling off now. What’s holding me up are two plastic bulbs that look like the squeaker toys my dog tears out of her cheap stuffed animals, tethered to my groin with surgical tubing. Getting those out will start a cascade of events that will well and truly kick off my midlife crisis. I might get a nose ring. Or a tramp stamp. Oh, I know! A tattoo just above my surgical scar that says, “Tear on this line.” You don’t know what might happen.
In Other News...
I’m quite popular on other people’s podcasts. Mostly because I’m just so fascinating and erudite. In this case, I took place in a three-part massive series on role-playing gaming on the 42Cast. All three parts are now up. If you played D&D in the 1980s (or anything else for that matter), you might want to give this a listen.
Role Models Part 1: Gaining Experience
Role Models Part 2: Mind Games
Role Models Part 3: The Epic Beach Game Exposition
Galley Notes: Navy Bean Soup
Because the late October weather unexpectedly showed up last week, we made my number one go-to comfort dish at the Bunker, Navy Bean Soup. This is a childhood favorite that makes the whole house smell good, tastes great, keeps well, and is super easy to make. It works best for cool evenings, of course, but hey, if you like slurping hot beans in Texas in July weather, have at it. Whatever works for you.
Ingredients
1 lb package of dried navy beans
1 large potato
1 carrot (or a handful of baby carrots)
1 medium onion
1 pint container of chicken stock
1 lb of German Kielbasa sausage (or whatever cooked smoked link sausage you like)
Salt and Pepper to taste
Soak beans overnight, as per directions. Rinse beans, transfer to a large soup pot, and set aside.
Peel and dice the potato, the carrot, and the medium onion. Add them to the beans. Slice the sausage into discs and add to pot. Add the chicken stock, and fill the empty container with water, and combine and stir. Add water until the level is about 1” above the beans.
Heat until boiling on the stove. Add salt and pepper sparingly. You can add more later. Once boiling, cover and reduce to a simmer for 1 ½ hours until beans are soft and the mixture thickens. Uncover, taste, and add more salt and pepper until you are happy.
Serve with your favorite cornbread recipe, and then send me a note of thanks.