Feren (feren) wrote,
Feren
feren

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Monday, boring Monday

I'm killing time during my lunch at work by doing various errands that I need to attend to. First and foremost on this "to-do" list was the phone call to my doctor's office so that I could get an appointment made to see my general practitioner about my wrists. I don't know that there is much I can do for them, and probably less that she can tell me about my problem. I'm hoping she'll simply decide it's over her head and refer me to a specialist on my healthcare network. The reason I want the referral isn't because I believe she's incompetent in any way -- far from it! I just think that spending any amount of time dealing with suspected causes is going to waste time that might better be spent dealing with a specialist and finding the definite cause. Is it carpal tunnel syndrome? I don't think so. Or, to be more correct: I don't think it is yet. With luck I'll only have to undergo a little bit of therapy and maybe some wrist braces or something to put me back on the path to good wrist health.

You know, it sort of figures that I'd be able to avoid my yearly sinus infection and get a bitching' case of tendonitis in its place. Fate has a sense of humor, oh yes. Either that or Murphy is working his magic again and speeding up entropy. I prefer to attribute it to the former rather than the later for this, however.

The downside to this situation is that it very well may impact my ability to work. When I think about that it doesn't make me feel exactly calm and secure. These hands, as badly as I have mistreated them in my youth, are now how I make a living. While it's the knowledge in my head that makes me a decent (I hesitate to say valuable) member of my employer's team, I have to be able to articulate that knowledge into F.A.Q.s, memorandums, how-tos and letters. I'm also expected to perform certain tasks, such as configuring the routers we send to the campuses or altering policy rule sets. All of these things require my hands to translate that know-how into action. It's an integral part of my job to be able to type, and if I have to cut back or stop entirely for any length of time I may very well be up a creek without a paddle. Can you picture me trying to work on a router with something like Dragon Dictate? I can see it already:

Jason: show run pipe begin serial 1 slash 0 (looking for the command "show run | begin serial 1/0")
DD puts on the screen: chew fun pipes begin cereal 1 flash zero

Trying to contemplate a command any more complicated than that with even more potential homonyms makes me shiver. I think it's like the verbal equivalent of trying to write on the old Apple Newton -- the "graffiti" system just wasn't developed enough yet (Remember that old gag from the Simpsons? I do. It was most accurate.).

I suppose there's no sense in getting wound up about it until I know more about exactly what's wrong with me. This really is something I should be used to by now, I've been dealing with a body that's creaking, falling apart, almost intent upon self-destruction since about age 8. Random pains and aches are something that have just become part of my day to day routine. On the days things are particularly "active" I find myself wondering what my twilight years will be like; I mean, if this is what my body is like in its "prime" what will things be like in 40 years? 50? 60? One suspects that the answer may not be something I really want to learn. Any ways, I made the call to my doctor's office, and got an appointment for this Wednesday, around 1:30 in the afternoon. My supervisor is aware of my situation and is glad to hear I'm going to be looked at. I'll know more after that, and I'll post the findings when they arrive.

On a different topic, I dropped my truck off at the body shop on Friday night and got a rental to cart myself around with until such time as things are fixed. I spoke with my guy at the collision center a few hours ago, and he said my insurance company had already been there to appraise the damage and take pictures of the truck. I'm sort of relieved, this is all moving quite quickly. I want my truck back! The plan, as I'm told, is that the bed liner is coming out and then they'll have a better idea of what the score is with my bed and the bed liner. That's going to have the biggest impact upon my estimate, I think. But again, I need to focus on the good, and that is that things are proceeding apace, and Butch's team has never steered me wrong, so I know the job will be done right. I also have my own pictures back of the pickup's side and the tire that did it. I will be scanning those in tonight after work and posting them on my web page. Naturally I will be providing a link for all you curious LJ folk as well.

Argh, these wrists. These damnable wrists. I can't believe how long typing this entry has taken me. I've no distractions, I'm just stopping constantly to rub at my hands and forearms, trying to keep the circulation going and keep them happy. As it is I'm still getting pain and tingling. Yes, I'm going to whine, bitch and complain about this. Cope.

Work today has been boring. I'm still doing paperwork for my uber-project. With luck I'll have the biggest batch of the most important figures completed by close of business tonight. That'd give me a definite boost forward in terms of reaching the ultimate goal of getting this product installed and running.

I was mulling a little more on the conversation I had last night with one of my best friends. As bizarre as I feel using that term (doesn't it seem odd? It's a phrase I think of as normal to hear from third-graders, not 23 year-old corporate professionals) I think it's entirely correct for the situation. After mulling more what I said, and what he said, and the sheer depth of some of the topics we discussed I feel a need to reiterate my thanks to him -- even if it does embarrass him. I appreciate what he's done for me and what he's offered to do for me. In a way, his actions have exemplified my idea of what a true friend is. I have very few friends. It's always been this way: my closest friends I can count on one hand, and the group of friends as a whole I associate with can be counted easily on two hands. Of course, there are some loose associates, but it's the friends, those people who I trust implicitly, that I'm talking about right now. When I was growing up and moving through the public education system I had a few teachers who harped on this very thing. According to them, I didn't get out and socialize enough, I was withdrawn and occasionally aloof. One went so far as to venture the idea that I had a learning disability. All because I wasn't part of the "in" crowd, or even the "out" crowd that is inevitably formed by the former's creation. I had only one or two friends throughout public school. Since then my sphere of friendship has expanded a small amount, but not much. Last night, though, while I was talking with him... I had something of an epiphany, I realized what it was about my friends that makes me content to have so few. I can, as I said, trust my friends completely. I hold no secrets, I have no grudges, I'd do anything for them and they for me. They are perfect for me (I can only hope I even approach adequate for them). They understand me, they know how I work and can relate to me within those parameters. Unlike some people I know, I have quality friends versus quantity friends. I am content with this small circle of one, two or three people. Maybe that's what threw my teachers for a loop as they tried to classify me (Hello, Ms Bitters): I wasn't making any effort they could see to try and fit in with any groups, and yet I was perfectly content. I am most thankful for my excellent friends.

Random thought, thanks to Charles: I still need to order my copy of one of the CDs by Riddle Me This. I most definitely want to hear I'm A Cow again.

Farmer John, I'm in love with your daughter.
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