Black boy on the tram: “So, why are you into Trump?”

Black girl: “He is a sugar daddy!”

I don’t know what to be: glad that this girl doesn’t know Trump would never take a Black woman as his sugar baby, or sad that this girl doesn’t know Trump would never take a Black woman as his sugar baby.

Three wins

1. Finished the first stage of our bathroom remodel. While Anja, did the vast majority of the work, we managed to collaborate well on putting together the medicine cabinet. I quickly lost the ability to understand anyone who does not have storage space behind their mirrors.
2. I walked from the office to a favorite coffee spot with coworker C., mostly without crutches! It was a win, endurance-wise, but a failure in self control. I spent the rest of the week feeling the ramifications of this adventure.
3. Anja and I took an amazing pottery workshop at Pansa. She has been a member there for years, but hadn’t been since her head injury in April. I was hoping this beginner’s workshop would give her back her confidence, and I seem to have succeeded. Of course, I, too, will be signing up for their full workshop.

I dreamed I added my profile picture to an IndieWeb directory. Upon visiting the website in question, I noticed how my initial difficulty to correctly operate my phone’s photo library had resulted in two pictures. The first one showed my face, and the second did, too. Scrolling down, though, any viewer would immediately be met with my bare chest. I panicked, and thought about people who fall victim to revenge porn. “Would my pictures be eligible for removal”, I wondered, “even if I was the one who committed the act?” I spent the rest of the saga stressed and horrified. Moments later, I wake up to Valentine’s Day, fully clothed.

It’s difficult to describe how loud the birds are against the dark dark blue sky across the street from the hospital, and even more difficult to convey the dread I feel as I hear their poop splatter on the floor, but it’s very easy to say what it means to walk on two feet again, even if it’s with crutches and the occasional pain: the attitude is gratitude.

Mother on the tram to the two-year-old producing nails-on-a-chalkboard sounds with the mouth: “No honey, we can’t play with the clay now because it’s very cold. See, clay is made from bees wax. We’re almost home, but before that we need to go pick up feta at the supermarket.”

Due to forgetful manoeuvring on my part, I find myself off work for the next three Fridays. Having spent two lovely days at the office this week, I can tell that’s a good thing. I’m happy, but tired. Thankful, but tired. Challenged, but tired. Today’s the day I’ll finally tidy up all the medical supplies that have been scattered around the house since late October.

Sterile gauze, pain killers, an ear thermometer, a dozen boxes of antibiotics, cotton pads, hospital documents, paper bags serving as portable trash bins, and adhesive bandages bandages bandages. One recurring thought has been that I’m so privileged to even be in the position to buy the number of island dressings that I did. That and all the cab rides to the hospital. “Let’s get one thing straight,” said the surgeon on Monday, “you and those bandages are done. Go home.”

It all feels like another paragraph into a new chapter I’m calling “On the Up and Up”. Wounds become scars, standing showers become normal, takeout deliveries become an exception, wheelchairs become dispensable, supplies become clutter, hearts become calm.

Currently listening to Julee Cruise’s “Falling”.

My first time traveling to the office without taxi assistance since my accident. I’m excited to see everyone, and nervous about how tight these hiking shoes feel. I’ve worn the right one plenty of times, but I’m breaking in the left one only now. I keep thinking “what if my leg explodes?!” but then I remember what the surgeon said during yesterday’s check-up: “you no longer have an ankle problem, only a head problem.”