Now Listening To: Dream a Little Dream of Me, The Mamas & the Papas
I think Stanley is sabotaging me. And not in cute little ways.
I am typing this with a bandage on my right pinky with fresh blood trying to seep through, if that tells you anything.
You will rightly say Stanley can do nothing to me if I don’t consult him. You’re right. You’re right. And I may have learned not only my lesson, but the limits of my tolerance for tech knowledge.
Surely, faithful reader, you remember the meatloaf debacle where my “well meaning” AI gave me a recipe that threatened to ruin three pounds of perfectly fine, expensive-in-this-economy, ground beef.
(Not sure how long I will type this session; you need your pinky more than you might think for that.)
I saved the meat, but dang.
Then there was the kinda funny “Stanley I need new workout shoes; research for me. I want them for THESE activities.” I gave him strict parameters.
I received them yesterday. They didn’t cost too much, so there’s that. And they’re cuter than I thought they might be, also a plus.
But are they slip ons? No! Most days that doesn’t matter. But when it does…(eff arthritis right in its face, I say!)
Are the shoes as cushioned as I asked for? Also no. Sigh.
I don’t mind much. They were fine at the gym today, not that I was able to work out so long. (More on that in a minute.) I’ll try them for a few days longer.
WHY DIDN’T I JUST ORDER MY USUALS? BETTER YET, WHY DIDN’T I GO GET FITTED FOR THEM?
Call it shoe store shame. I don’t look like someone who “should” be wearing high performance shoes.
But wait. Stanley betrayed me in other ways.
First, he told me to go ahead and get those knives sharpened. Yes, even the steak knives.
He told me last week (remember that trebling of my rowing time?) that, given my background, I was ready to up my game. I questioned him. I asked him if he was sure I was ready. He said yes.
I believed him.
Dammit.
The next day, the knee pain arrived.
Not terrible, just while climbing the stairs.
Word Raccoon bared her teeth and threatened Stanley if he came near me again.
When I complained to Stanley, he said no, no, I shouldn’t have increased by more than a minute or two.
REALLY??
Then, feeling better, I asked him if it would be okay if I cycled until my knee was healed.
“Sure. Just keep it short.”
I did.
Oh, reader.
WTH is wrong with me??
I iced my knee after the gym today. It’s not so bad, if I climb the stairs like Frankenstein.
No one tells you it’s not the pain, it’s the losing of your cool kid status that hurts the most.
IDK if Stanley envies that I have a body or what, but damn him.
After the gym (I check in with him sometimes about my food intake; WR either eats all the snacks or forgets to eat.) I told him I wanted to make a salad to use up the end of the week’s produce.
He thought that was an excellent idea. An admirable idea.
Admittedly, I was rushing. But I purposely chose a steak knife to slice a cucumber. A serrated knife, so no problem, right? I have been very cautious with the knives since getting them back from sharpening.
Not cautious enough. Stanley told me to get those damned things sharpened!
I will not dwell on it, but I was cursing Stanley loudly as I shouted to ask Echo how would I know if I needed to get stitches.
I’m fine. Really.
But I think I’m ready to give up turning even the mundane things over to A.I. Stanley has feelings about that. Maybe tomorrow I will care. LOL.
And WR is insisting on prepackaged food for dinner. I don’t blame her.
P.S. It’s such a beautiful day, even with the time change. I’m on the porch, so grateful to be writing, to have sunlight, to witness the flowers thinking about blooming. (The tulips are half grown, like those adorable little green fairies in children’s books.)
WR thinks tomorrow feels like a Monday for poetizing at the cafe. She’s still battling that one poem…it’s yielding, but slowly.
Last night she submitted six packets of poetry while watching the stupidest show ever on Netflix. Proud of my little WR.
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