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Trump endangers my people, and my world, and I am going to stand up, in my own feeble way, and protest, and protect.

"Here I stand:  I cannot do otherwise.  God help me.  Amen."

Still here

Worked ludicrous hours today, all my own fault, and I didn't get to go to a dance event I actually wanted to go to.  Sigh.

I'm working on a project at work, I want to get it right, and I keep feeling that it should be less complicated than I'm making it.

I was supposed to do a supervisory exercise for my boss last weekend and I totally 100% forgot about it.  I told him today I could get it done tomorrow.  (I was supposed to have turned it in on Tuesday.)

Jack, bless his furry heart, is fine.

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Panic! at the Vet

Early this morning, Jack and I went to the vet.  He was supposed to get a steroid shot (he has a chronic inflammatory condition) and, if the vet had time, his annual checkup.  She had time.

One good thing that came out of the checkup was that I got an explanation for why Jack likes to extend his right foot to one side, in "cat yoga" positions like this one:



Apparently his kneecap is loose.  If you have ever had a small dog, you probably know all about that.  It's endemic among poodles, I'm told.  And sticking his leg out is apparently his way of trying to manage it.

There's surgery you can get for this, but we don't have any reason to think Jack is actually suffering as things stand.  He's at higher risk for arthritis, so he's going on chondroitin (sp?) chews.

BUT.  The big thing that happened, wasn't that.  Things took a dramatic turn for the worse while he was getting his annual rabies shot.

Somehow - I didn't see how it happened - a squeeze bottle of alcohol was knocked over, and dribbled or squirted right into Jack's eye.

OUCH.  The vet rushed off to get saline solution, and they flushed his eye.  This -- water in his face -- was about as welcome as you'd expect.  Jack struggled (the vet assistant was already holding him down) and wailed.

Next came an ointment.  Finally, there were eye drops:  3 times a day, or as often as we could get them in.

But I am not a good cat wrangler, and Jack was already highly agitated.  So the vet is keeping him at the animal hospital for the weekend.  If nothing else, they've got multiple people on site, and sometimes numbers help when you are dealing with an upset cat.

I'm calm now (this was all about eleven hours ago) but it was upsetting to witness.  I can only imagine what it was like to go through.  My poor kitty.

I can tell he's not here.  I miss him.

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I'm still here

Kind of too tired right now to write, but I wanted to say "Hi".

Hope you all are doing okay.  

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I learned to cook in England, but the methods I learned were French.

I was a vegetarian at the time.  I had several vegetarian cookbooks by Martha Rose Schulman (whom I consider greatly underappreciated.)  Though I didn't know it at the time, her early cooking was greatly inspired by Beck, Bertholle, and Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

So I made lots of roux-thickened soups, vivid with greens and white beans I'd soaked and cooked the night before.  Tomato and potato soup.  Open-faced vegetable tarts with crumbly wholemeal pastry.  You get the idea.

My vegetables were always browned in butter, because butter was cheap and olive oil expensive: this was England, subsidizing their dairy farmers, creator of the "surplus butter mountain" of the 1980s.

So diced onions going gold and translucent in butter - the smell takes me back to early adulthood, and English kitchens.

I only just realized this morning that that's a French thing, that while I learned to cook in English kitchens, what techniques I know are French.  Funny old world.

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At work tonight, a lady I'd seen making some kind of list by the coffee maker came up to me at my desk and asked if I had a paper clip.

I had a straight pin. I offered it to her: she took it, thanked me, flung it across the room, and dropped into a crouch behind my chair.

I do not know what that was about.

I'm a bit better

I'm not as smashed down as I was a few weeks ago.

I still have a certain grey baseline of gloom, like a raincloud a long way away, low on the horizon.  But I'm staying active, doing things, exercising, making positive change.

I am still going to keep that appointment with my doctor next week.  It's nice to have rebounded a bit, but I'm not back to where I was in, say, December.

I was planning a short vacation (Friday to Monday) next month, but for various unrelated family reasons may wind up making it a "staycation" instead.  There are some things I need (and want) to do for a family member.

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I'm still here

It's been a bit of time, and I've had a hard few weeks.

I'm slipping into depression again.  But I have done the appropriate things:  called up my (marvelous) former psychiatrist, and got an appointment.  Told my loved ones.  Made lots of lunch dates and such with people I know and like.

One thing I have now, that I never had before, was the belief that I can get through this and it won't go on forever.  It can be fixed.  Maybe through meds alone, maybe not.  But it isn't forever.

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