Little to report. I felt feverish and headachy after Friday morning’s workout at the gym, then worse as the day went along. I begrudgingly accepted the obvious—I was sick—and bailed out of Saturday’s social activities. I drank a lot of water, ate very little, and Saturday night (judging by the condition of the sheets Sunday morning), sweated it out.
Along with the mysterious, short-lived illness came a toothache, which persisted. Our dentist was able to work me in Monday—he discovered a dead tooth, one of my upper left molars—and referred me to an endodontist for a root canal. I endured that lovely procedure (my first) Tuesday. The tooth and the jaw around it is still sore, but that’s from the shock & awe done to it yesterday, and will fade away in a few days. Otherwise I’m well again.
Poorer, though. Remember me raving about my new movie star front teeth? Turns out that exercise in vanity maxed out my dental insurance for the year, so Monday’s emergency consultation and Tuesday’s root canal were out-of-pocket expenses. Show of hands: how many of you have any kind of dental insurance? I ask because I keep meeting people who don’t have any. They go to Mexico when they have to have anything expensive done.
If you read this blog you know me well enough you won’t be surprised when I tell you I felt sorry for myself and whined about all this on Facebook. One friend in particular was sympathetic and supportive. I suddenly remembered he and his wife nearly died in a car accident a few years ago. Her injuries were horrific but his were horrificker: they had to keep him in a medically-induced coma for days, and when that was over he spent weeks in an inpatient rehab facility, followed by months of physical therapy. I wrote back and said: “Yeah, but I have a TOOTHACHE!”
Well, enough about me! How are you today?
I’m pleased Hillary Clinton has the delegate count sewn up and is the presumptive Democratic nominee. I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it until today, since it was only early this morning the California Democratic primary results became official.
Monday evening the Associated Press announced that Hillary had the magic number of delegates required to win the nomination, but their count was based on telephone calls to officially-unpledged superdelegates or some such, not on primary results, and it felt to me the AP had thrown a sopping-wet blanket over the citizens of six states who’d been planning to vote in primaries the next day, Tuesday. The voters, thank goodness, ignored the premature AP announcement and turned out anyway, and now Clinton’s delegate count seems rock solid: we can safely plan on her winning the Democratic Party nomination on the first ballot.
But, but, you say: Bernie Sanders! To which I say: Who? Let’s move on to the general election and get this shit over with! By the way: yay, California! I love you!
I could not have written that Friday or Saturday. I really must be feeling better!
Donna’s at a Tuesday through Saturday sewing retreat at old Hilton (it’s something else now) a few miles from here; the critters and I won’t see her until it’s over. She goes every spring, then spends the rest of the year planning for the next one. I’m happy when she’s happy, and she’s happy with her sewing (read “sewing and wine-drinking”) friends.
Polly’s home with me and making dinner tonight: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, corn. I’ve been outdoors all day in 100°F-plus heat at the air museum, so letting Polly do the cooking sounds good to me. Plus I get to catch up with all the violent and scary streaming TV shows Donna won’t watch with me. Life is good.
© 2016, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.