Yesterday, I published a video. Looking at it after the fact, I got worried about myself — even though I don’t appear in it, I could see myself clearly, and in particular, the effects of a few days of ill health. I was slow and halting and thin-voiced, and failed to express my enthusiasm for the topic. My apologies to everyone.

I haven’t taken it down because it made me appreciate the privilege of health and mobility. I’ve been brought low by an abrupt and seemingly spontaneous break in a lateral ligament in my knee capsule, which means I can’t bend my right knee without severe pain, and I can’t put my weight on that leg. This has been devastating in multiple ways. Obviously, I can’t walk. The world beyond my front door is suddenly unreachable — there are steps! But then there were other problems. I spend about 4 hours a night trying to precisely bend my leg to minimize pain, which never works, until I fall asleep in exhaustion, and then I’ll be awakened at random times with bolts of agony running up my leg. I’m feeling permanently worn out.

Then I’m currently malnourished, and it’s my own fault. Chronic pain kills my appetite, and I’m beginning to feel the effects, but I can’t be motivated to do anything about it. Mary has been doing her best to supply me with something to eat, but I hate to say it, but she has no sense of taste and minimal skill at cooking. She leaves me these horrible sandwiches — two slices of bread with nothing but a little peanut butter between them — and I have to be desperate to choke them down. That’s what I’ve been living on since Thursday, and it’s not good (she’s at the store right now getting some canned soups that should improve my diet). I’m beginning to think this is a drawback to marrying a woman of Scandinavian descent.*

I’ve been fantasizing about sneaking into the kitchen and whipping up a lazy bachelor’s sandwich. A couple of slices of bread toasted in a little olive oil, some chopped onions and garlic, scrambling an egg, and adding a slice of cheese, some salt and pepper, and adding a splash of hot sauce to wake it up…that would be fantastic. Except then I have to imagine prying myself out of a chair and straightening this painful limb and hobbling into the kitchen to stand on one leg for the three minutes it would take to make it, and then staggering back to my office chair, and somehow lowering myself into it with my right knee sending alarms for every degree of bend I subject it to, and then my appetite evaporates.

I have an appointment with an orthopedist this morning, and I’m hoping that will put this stupid leg back on the road to recovery, before I starve to death.

I’ll get back to trying to do more science outreach once I’ve restored my flesh and am able to get around again. There are spiders right outside my door and I can’t go to them now!

*My grandmother, in her final years, would just go to Arby’s, buy 20 or more roast beef sandwiches, freeze them at home and thaw out one a day for dinner. I cannot imagine living like that, but food was just fuel to her. My mother was skin and bones when she died, because she had so little interest in food, I think my sister kept her alive as long as she did by doing all the cooking. I’ve acquired this bias that my peasant ancestors probably just lived on chunks of dried salt cod with an occasional boiled turnip until they got so tired of it they decided to go Viking.

A person named Elise has compiled a spreadsheet of responses from neurodivergent people about their jobs and careers. I learned something from browsing through it. Most of the respondents seen to favor jobs that don’t require extensive interactions with people, but there was on grade school teacher there — they liked the strict schedule. There was a PhD researcher in the mix, but they seem to have lucked into a position with no teaching, just field and lab work. One paramedic says, “Dopamine dump in intense situations feels normal to people with ADHD.”

It seems neurodivergent people are diverse. Who knew?

I have been enlightened. I know exactly what my role on this Earth is.

Yesterday, my wife found a dead rabbit in the shrubbery in our yard. You couldn’t miss it — the odor was horrific. So of course she sent me out to dispose of it.

It had been disemboweled and left to rot for several days. I found spoor nearby, and I suspect the killer was a dog, since cats tend to be more fastidious and don’t leave large lumps of poop nearby. I scraped it into a garbage bag, and noticed that the entire body cavity was a writhing mass of maggots.

I did not take pictures of that, even if I was impressed. You can thank me for that.

I put the body in our garbage can. Fortunately, garbage pick up was the next day, that is, this morning. I figured I was done.

My wife interrupted me again this morning. She’d gone to bring the trash can into the garage this morning, only it wasn’t empty. She told me it was “insect related,” so it was my job.

The trash can was covered in maggots. They were in masses on the bottom, had crawled up the sides, were covering the lid, and were dripping off the container into the grass.

I will share a photo of the lid.

The rabbit was gone, and we’re talking tens of thousands of homeless maggots crawling everywhere. Everything was covered with maggots, which I guess explains why Mary hadn’t brought the garbage can in.

I used a garden hose to clean it up. There is now a patch of our yard that has been enriched with a wiggly mass of protein, I hope the birds appreciate it.

It’s been raining non-stop for the last few days, just an ongoing drizzle, cool and wet.

No spiders. Spiders are not fans of the excessive water falling out of the sky. I’m missing my little friends.

The good news is that the vegetation is going mad, and I expect once it all dries out a bit and the sun warms up the place, we’re going to be swarming with insects, and the spiders will be joyous again.

My granddaughter has graduated from kindergarten!

She looks so eager to get out in the real world and get a job.

For over a decade now, I’ve been accustomed to screwing myself up every summer. I spend the school year focused on teaching stuff (and being snowbound much of the time), and then when I’m released in May, I leap into action and overdo it, and then every summer I can guarantee I’ll spend a month or two laid up with a knee or ankle or both wrecked. I’ve got crutches and braces set aside just in case. You don’t see most of it because you’re seeing me through the teeny-tiny porthole of the internet.

But not this year, so far (knock on wood). I’ve changed my behavior. I started out with a leisurely walk for 40 minutes to an hour every single day — every day is the key, I think. Easing into my summer routine is helping, and now I’m ramping up into a brisk walk. No pain yet! Actually, I’m feeling pretty good. Maybe I’m doing something right.

Another factor: I’m not teaching this fall, which has removed an amazing amount of stress from my life. I can’t actually separate the physical from the psychological.

Anyway, that means that right now I am compelled to get out of the house and go for a walk. Bye!

Over two weeks ago, I spotted a pair of boots abandoned in a parking lot. I’ve been keeping an eye on them — they’ve been there all this time, but I’ve seen them moved around every once in a while.

Their saga is almost over, I’m sad to report.

Farewell on your journey to the landfill!