Disembodied Ninja

January: Oceanside

In case you have not been able to guess yet: last weekend, I was able to escape my corner of the desert for a few days and go visit Cherished Friend in Oceanside.

It was lovely.

He is himself, as always. It is a pleasure and a comfort to spend time with him, to listen to him talk, to sit in the quiet of his house, to contemplate the Scrabble board, to take a walk in the Oceanside trees, to look out over the actual ocean.

Every now and then, the temptation to be self-conscious creeps into the back of my head; but he (a little frighteningly, actually) knows me so well -- oftentimes predicting what I am going to say -- and forgives me my awkwardness, flaws and foibles, that I choose instead to just let go and acknowledge that for whatever (very mysterious) reason, he accepts me just as I am. And a rare sense of serenity results.

I have worried on occasion that the Many Terrible Things of the past several years have made me cold and hard and unfeeling; there, I am better able to tap into my well-hidden core of warmth and be myself.

The only hard part of visiting him, is the knowledge that the time in Oceanside is very short. It is so important not to anticipatorily grieve leaving again; and yet, it is so difficult. I do my very best to stay in the moment.

I know he has a well-established personal space sphere, and I respect that, keeping distance to ensure his comfort. He was kind enough, though, to tolerate sufficient proximity to take a selfie of the two of us together before I left. (Actually, several, until I could manage one in which I did not look like a demented chipmunk.) I'm grateful.

When I think of Cherished Friend, I often think of the saying: Friendship is a sheltering tree. It is rare that I am able to be in the shelter of this particular tree, but the peace and safety there are immeasurable.

January: Earworms

I have started listening to YouTube Music occasionally, to see if a subscription to it -- rather than Pandora Radio -- would be useful or if I would end up with the same type of mix either way.

YouTube seems to think that I'm a very angsty teenager, though. (How much overlap is there between angsty teenager and tired middle-aged woman? Is there more than I realize? Oh dear.)

It's serving up songs such as the following:

Exile (Taylor Swift). I'm not a Swifty, but this one is growing on me.

Don't Put It All On Me (Noah Cyrus). Which, well, that's an earworm for sure.

On the other hand: could we have a few more upbeat bops, please?

Like this: APT (Rose and Bruno Mars). It's complete fluff and eminently dance-able. I need more of this.

Let's see what more we get in the weeks ahead.

January: Manteca Nightmares

I experienced a charming \sarcasm font\ bit of shaming a couple of days ago.

I had a routine annual appointment with the cardiologist. I was not particularly worried about the appointment; he's (normally) a very kind man, everything usually goes smoothly. I had my lab results from the end of October of 2025 -- and according to my primary care physician (who had already reviewed them with me in November), everything was fine.

Dr. Cardiologist had different thoughts, though. He breezed in with a student doctor, whom I welcomed (I'm always a fan of student doctors learning on the job) and commented right off the bat that he was concerned about my triglycerides. (Which, admittedly, are a bit high, though my primary care doctor was not concerned.)

He turned from the computer where the numbers were displayed, looked at me, and asked, "Did you eat a lot of grease over the holidays?"

Well, Jesus H. Christ riding a bicycle.

I got stuck momentarily in figuring out how to answer because 1) my labs were from before the holidays and 2) no, I don't normally eat a lot of fatty foods (I do tend to eat simple/processed sugars, especially when migraine-y, and that too can raise triglycerides). Was I supposed to answer either of those things? Probably not.

I resorted to, "Well, I ate a lot of feelings over the holidays." Which, putting you on notice that LIFE IS F*CKING HARD RIGHT NOW, SIR, PERHAPS A MODICUM OF TACT MIGHT GET YOU FURTHER.

I wonder what the student doctor thought? Or if he noticed how horrified I was? Dr. Cardiologist did not, or if he did, pretended not to.

Dr. Cardiologist instead glossed over my response and followed up his condescending question by asking if I'd ever had a stress test. Which, no. We went over the whys and hows and whens of a stress test (there was more ick in that discussion, but I was still stuck on the grease). He concluded with, if the stress test was fine, we'd just have to make sure I ATE LESS GREASE, and walked me out to the scheduling cubicles.

The whole thing took maybe 3 minutes.

I am still stunned.

Horrified.

What does he think, that I'm just sitting in a corner with my spoon and a tub of manteca? And is making his point that way, really the best way to do it? In front of a student doctor? What was he teaching them, exactly?

Whatever his intentions, he succeeded at one thing. I have felt shame about every single food item I have put in my mouth since then, and it has in fact resulted in my eating less. Well done, Doctor - you have turned slightly disordered overeating into vague orthorexia, just through the use of the word grease.

The stress test will be fine. And it'll be good to have a baseline and to address any concerns.

In the meantime, I will chew on my shame.

January: Boat Show

I went to a boat show. (Can you guess where I was yet?) So many boats. It was in many ways much like attending an RV show, except water instead of wheels, and more often wood instead of composite.

My takeaway from the boat show: I finally understood Cherished Friend's Boat Dream.

I have supported his Boat Dream for a long time -- it is his dream and important to him, and so it is important to me. But I finally UNDERSTAND why it is his Dream, what the Dream is all about, and what steps are needed to truly bring it to fruition.

It makes sense.

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In many ways, Cherished Friend is much like my college physics class: I feel like I am on the cusp of understanding him, and that if I ask just enough questions, or just the right questions, I will finally -- finally! -- be enlightened.

I may never truly know anything. But at least as far as the Boat Dream goes, it's clear why it exists.