Monday, March 25, 2019

Predictions are for suckers.

Photo copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved.

Ice-burst on the deck two days ago. That spot at center left looks creepily like the top half of a Jack Skellington skull, or something even less benign (and no, fates, I'm not tempting you with that word, mmmkay?). We had a brief shower-turned-flurry again yesterday, when there was supposed to be a zero-percent chance of any precipitation. No snow or ice today, at least, but it's just more evidence that, in all things, apparently, predictions are for suckers.

Terrible day yesterday; today hasn't started off swimmingly, either. I'm on day four of this migraine, the kind where you feel like you can't get out of bed, except that lying down hurts even worse so it propels you up in spite of yourself. Aggravated, yesterday, by having to walk Miika in the wind and dust: colic; vet unreachable for 4.5 hours; had to handle it ourselves. She's fine now, but this is what spring does, and it's one of the many, many reasons why this is by far my least favorite season. The plumber did come out, so . . . yay, I guess? He'll fix the immediate leak later this week, and do some testing and so forth on the problem in the utility room walls. The only problem was that yesterday was supposed to be my time to do a lot more work on taxes, and I lost about four hours of the day to all this other stuff. So more of it today, and tomorrow, and . . . .

Speaking both of predictions being for suckers and of tomorrow, it's the next go-round. More travel, more pain, more costs. As I said, depending on what it shows (and that may not be settled for a while, depending on how much drilling down they need to do on the cell samples), there is still very much the prospect of a lot more of all of those things to come, particularly the expense. [As I also said, there's also the prospect of increased risk and, shall we say, a less than optimal outcome, but I'm not letting my brain go there now. I have a sliver of hope here that it is literally nothing to worry about, and I'm letting a little of that filter in to keep myself sane.]

And it all comes down, as always, to money. We're still paying off last year's taxes even as I'm spending this weekend buried in this year's. I'll have another bill coming next week for the second biopsy, and then another bill (or maybe two) for the reading of it. We have no answers yet, including no answers as to what almost killed me twice 16+ months ago. And whatever the outcome with this, I still have more testing to undergo related to that. Next goal is paying off the hospitals from that mess, which comes to more than $30K just between the two of them, and they dun me daily, so here are the links:
  • My Patreon, The Interstices (Writing Between Worlds) (and if you subscribe today you won't be billed until April 1st for March);
  • Wings's site, for sales, with lots of new items posted;
  • Wings's direct PayPal link;
  • A way to buy me coffee (which actually goes to all of our medical bills, which continue to mount);
  • Amazon wishlist, which mostly consists of animal and household stuff, with the kibble back on it; we gave several of our existing bags to a local disabled vet with a starving rescue dog who needed the help;
  • Partial registry #1, from Bed, Bath and Beyond. I've added two or three new kitchen-y things on it now, stuff that I didn't realize we'd need.
All we want, to be able to have some confidence in making it through the whole year with whatever they're going to find going wrong in my body, is to make some sales. That's it: sales; nothing else. The stress is constant, and it's telling. Good vibes for Raven are needed today especially (he's still hanging with us, and I need him to be safe while we're out). But we all could use some, too, me most of all. We all could also use some help with sharing Wings's site (and testimonials, if you got 'em). Thanks.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

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