Manually crossposted from DW.
I'm continuing to heal, which is I suppose the best form of frustrating. What I need right now is a powerful, heavy-handed massage of my right thigh, and all the MST's I know in Portland are wonderful women with small, delicate hands. The job I need done on my thigh needs huge meaty mitts, and improvising with a knee not only won't work, but would probably re-do the injury.
Time spent healing has gotten me very much behind in a large number of things. It gets hard to schedule when the body keeps dictating "You are now going to sleep; you have two minutes to find a place to lie down if you'd rather sleep that way."
First thing I'm going to try for today is getting supplies over to James's place for tomorrow night's party. Next is writing my letter to Reb Stone by hand and delivering it, then comes writing to Dad by hand and mailing that. I've got four more on stack after that, but those-all can be done by email, and I'm considering them extra credit anyway, because I anticipate getting a couple of armloads of shopping to James's will wear me out.
New inspiration for anti-Trump activism: We need a cornpone comic, to play the role of the rube who got taken in by Donny's City Slicker. We need a *real* cornpone comic, not yet another New York Jew playing let's pretend. Know anybody?