Impostors and Impostor syndrome

As I enter midlife, I'm pursuing creativity more in my life. And not just as a hobby or pastime, but as something that defines me and as the foundation I want to set my career and life on. I've always been creative, but my creativity was never properly encouraged growing up. For a long time, I thought that meant I didn't have as much creativity as others. As I've matured, I recognize my creativity is very different from others, and they didn't know how to process that. 

But especially when you're young, it's not easy to see that. So it's made it hard for me to enter the creative realm, and like many people in my position, I've really struggled with impostor syndrome. Struggled to the point where co-workers have had to actively tell me I am worthy of what I have. It's a hard thing to work through. 

Which is why I'm floored when I come across stories of real impostors. I don't encounter a lot of real impostors in my life (or at least they're really good at imposting, so I don't recognize them). But every so often, you hear stories of them.

For example, I've really been into police bodycam and dashcam videos lately. I don't know why. I bear witness to enough violence and vehicular carnage in my neighbourhood to satiate that urge. One of the videos I watched recently was of a group of officers investigating a guy who was pretending to be a cop. It's pretty cringey to watch since you know from the very start that the guy isn't a cop. For someone who feels like an impostor in a place I've been asked and encouraged to be, it makes my skin positively CRAWL to watch this guy try and squirm his way through this. I just don't know how he does it. 

Or maybe one of the more famous and egregious impostors is the story of Tania Head (or so she called herself). Tania claimed to have escaped from the impact zone of the South Tower during 9/11. But, as this blog is likely leading you to see, she wasn't. She wasn't even in the US. The whole story is told in some depth in the documentary, The Woman Who Wasn't There. And she didn't just claim to be a 9/11 survivor. No no no. She actually took control of a couple of 9/11 survivor support groups, led tours of the WTC area and was a very visible face in the survivor community. Until the New York Times started meddling in her past.

Watching impostors like that gives me much the same gross feeling inside as watching urban explorers in places they shouldn't be. It all seems very fun right up until you're going to get caught. Then there's no way out. 

I sometimes have an urge to create a different personality. Or create a second me that's maybe a little wilder, more daring. I'm not even talking about being an impostor as much as just having a second personality that amplifies certain parts of my own persona. Maybe that's the kind of place where impostors come from. Maybe the cop dude watched body cam videos like me and just pursued that interest in the wrong direction. They say Tania Head suffered from some lack of empathy in her own life and maybe saw the 9/11 survivors as a place where she could find love. 

I don't know where it comes from, but it's fascinating to watch people who have dug themselves so deeply into a lie. And it always makes me wonder where it started. 

Leave me a comment as an impostor below! 

The Return of Rush

Back in our radio days, The Navigator and I had a "Trilogy of Rock". Rush, Clutch and Motorhead. 

Unfortunately, neither of us would ever see Motorhead, but we've both been able to see Clutch and Rush together over the years. We saw Clutch a couple of years ago in Saskatoon and saw Rush in Calgary in 2015 on their final tour. 

Or so we thought. 

It was to my great delight yesterday that I opened up YouTube and saw a video that was only a few minutes old from Rush called "Geddy and Alex Send a Message to Rush Fans". Rush is back, baby.

They're reuniting with German-stickswoman Anika Nilles, who, per the video, recently played with the late Jeff Beck's band. I admit, I hadn't heard of her before yesterday, but the videos I've seen have been promising. She certainly has the chops. And if Ged and the other guy think she's good enough, then I trust she is. 

I'm glad to see the guys back at it. It always bugs me when talented folks aren't playing. I know it's selfish as a fan to say that, but there's always a pretty good reason for musicians to stop playing together. It makes me sad that bands like Rage Against the Machine don't play together. There is too much talent in the surviving members of Rush to leave them in a retirement home. 

Tickets go up for sale next week, and I expect I can't afford to go to Toronto for the show. But boy, it's tempting to see them again. 

One more time. 

Dogs! (Oh heck and why not cats too?)

 I've wanted to do a post about my dogs since coming back to the blogiverse, and since I've caught the curse that's befallen my siblings, today is the day for that lazier path. 

Long-time readers will know about my first dog, Bootsy, and Rhonda's pupper, Shadow. Bootsy left us in 2013 after a short and kinda disturbing set of illnesses. That was a pretty tough one for me, and I still miss her from time to time. 

Bootsy wasn't gone for long before Rhonda dragged me to the Humane Society, and we dragged home an adult Husky I named Leika after the first dog in space. 

Leika was a pretty challenging dog. She had a drive to run - especially away, and she was never easy to walk despite practicing every single day. But she did have a lot of love in her heart and was unflinchingly protective of the kids. Like Bootsy, she had a very short but extreme decline at the end of her life in late 2020, and we said goodbye to her while we were in lockdown.

In 2013, we started to notice that there were an awful lot of mice around the 100-year-old house we moved into that year. So we decided to get a cat. And so we adopted Chopstick from a farm. He was a famous scrapper on the farm, and the family there thought he might do best if he was taken away from the other cats in the area. 

Chop really was an excellent family cat. He was patient with the young kids who would drag him around, knew how to keep our big dogs in check and kept the mouse population in the house at zero. But he never lost his scrapper attitude or his wanderlust, and he paid the price for it over and over. More than a few times, he came home with severe fight-related injuries to his face, eyes and ears. 

Most famously, Chopstick was a victim of violence at the hands of an unknown assailant in the neighbourhood. One evening in late June 2017, Chop came home dragging his rear hind leg behind him. We couldn't figure out what had happened, and when we took him to the vet, it was quickly determined that he had been shot in the butt by a BB gun. The pellet shattered his rear hip, and unfortunately, it led to an amputation of his hind leg. 

Chop would spend the remaining five years of his life as a tripod who still loved to go out and scrap, catch mice and keep the dogs in check. While Chop got along famously with all of the dogs, when Liberty showed up, he no longer had patience for dealing with dogs. Chop moved himself outside permanently when Lib moved in, and he stopped coming by the house for visits in late 2022. We don't know what happened to him, but I suspect someone will find a kitty skeleton under the deck someday. 

Like when we lost Leika, it didn't take long for the thought of another dog to start making the rounds in late 2020. So it was in November 2020 that I got my first real puppy - though she wouldn't stay small for long. We got my first purebred dog from a breeder, the Newfoundlander dog, Ahsoka. The new Star Wars series of the same name debuted that week, and Ahsoka is one of my favourite Star Wars characters. So it was an easy one to do. 

Ahsoka has been the most successful dog I've had so far. Maybe it's the breed, maybe it's because she was the first dog I raised from a puppy, but she's been easier to walk, train and communicate with. She is absolutely the big teddy bear that everyone thinks she is, and is just a pleasure to have around. But she's unfortunately enormous, and I've not got the body I need to have for such a big dog. Because she's still a dog and they need to dash at squirrels and cats, even if I'd rather she doesn't.

Ahsoka is also my first pet with a social media account. But we basically never update it anymore. I wonder if people think she's gone? 

As mentioned earlier in June 2022, Liberty, the Great Pyreneese/Border Collie cross, joined the family. His owner, Gary, passed away, and we agreed to adopt Liberty and give him a good home. This made the family a three-dog family for a short while (tragic foreshadowing). 

Liberty is a pretty good dog, but he's also quite anxious. We've never been sure if it was some of the stuff that happened when his owner passed, or just his nature, or both. But he's always been quite reactive and headstrong. And he's obsessively protective of Rhonda. He reminds me a lot of Leika a lot of the time, especially when I walk him. He's got his own path that he wants to take at all times. 

And so we come to late 2022 with our last welcome and our last farewell. 

During Christmas break in 2022, we welcomed a new mouse management officer to our home in the form of a tiny little grey/gold tabby named Baba. For my own reasons, I rarely call her that and have just nicknamed her an altered version of "Chop" to "Chip". She's a very small cat compared to Chopstick, but she's extremely fast and very bold. Despite living in a home with two large dogs, she rules the roost. And she might be even better than Chopstick was at mousing. Because there has been ZERO sign of mice since she took over the job. I think she's just able to fit into spots he wasn't. 

She's a troublemaker, but she's cute and clearly thinks she's a dog that weighs over 120lbs. No one's bothered to correct her. 

And I've hinted enough, but we said goodbye to Shadow just as 2022 turned into 2023. He was nearly 18 years old, and the last year of his life was not very high-quality. Shadow was a fierce protector, despite his diminutive size, and I don't think he ever needed a leash in his whole life. 

And so our family has been filled out with two big dogs and one tiny cat ever since. We fostered a beautiful reddish golden retriever, whom we nicknamed "Honey" because her name was also Liberty. The owner wanted us to adopt her, but with my gout and two dogs we already needed to care for, it wasn't to be. She stayed with us for a few weeks and was definitely part of our pet story. I miss having a fish tank, but I don't think the cat would leave them alone. Her killer instinct is too strong. We tried to have a few guinea pigs, but Leika made a snack of one, and that experiment ended prematurely. 

And now, I'm finally caught up on my pet story here on Pilot's World. My pets really are important to me, and in looking at my Instagram to put this together, I'm realizing how much I love animals in general. Maybe someday, Rhonda will let me get a highland cow. 

Two in a year

Last week, just after walking off stage after performing at O’Hanlon’s I learned that my grandfather, Remo Forer had passed away at 97 years old. I carry his name with me; my middle name is Remo after him.

I’m sad about it, but at the same time, I never had a deep relationship with grandpa. We would talk politely at family events, and I always loved passing out the gum he gave me to my cousins, but he never really shared wisdom with me or guided me through much of life.

We always lived in a different town, so that’s a part of it. I know many of my cousins who lived around Avonlea had much closer relationships.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have an appreciation and respect for the man. 97 good years of life is in itself respectable. But I also share his passion for hats, and I admire his entrepreneurial spirit. In fact, if there’s one thing I wish I’d learned more from him, it’s how to be a businessman. He may have been a farmer and later a gravel-baron, but at his core, he was a shrewd businessman.

I also admire his longevity. And not just living to 97. Up until two or three years ago, he was still extremely active. Famously, he did a James Bond-style dive out of his bulldozer as it slipped off a cliff. On his 90^th birthday! I don’t know that I could make that dive now at 44.

And so, we said farewell to grandpa on Saturday. I always find the graveside part of the mourning process to be the most impactful. Church is important to a lot of my family, but it always feels like the priest is spending more time delivering a guilt trip than helping us remember or mourn. But at the graveside, we say goodbye, and it’s very emotional. And twice in the last month, I’ve shovelled dirt on the remains of a grandparent. I was an honourary pallbearer for the first time; I’m sure it won’t be my last.

And so, I’m left with one grandparent. Luckily/unlucky, I dunno. But I know it’s fleetingly rare to reach my age with any grandparents. And grandma is not doing great. She was too sick to attend the funeral, and I do worry if we’ll be saying goodbye to her before long.

I suppose that’s just part of growing up and growing older. 

Danks Coach!

It’s been a weird year for me.

On one hand, I’ve launched a music project that’s growing at a really comfortable rate and giving me the confidence – and permission – to really stretch out creatively.

On the other hand, nearly 18 years at the same company and struggles to get ahead there have really started to chafe me, and I question why I’ve let myself get stuck there.

Over the past few months, in particular since I was unsuccessful in earning the promotion I was going for, I’ve been looking at changing paths. Maybe find a new job or at least look at some different possibilities. But the job boards don’t really have anything that piques my interest.

In a few months, my current job contract will expire, and I’ve already made a goal to try and make up the shortfall that will come by playing music. I don’t know if I’ll make it in time, but BOY am I gonna try!

It's with that frustration at looking at other jobs, and this maybe a bit insane try at something completely different that I decided to start using a career coach. My work has an FSEAP (Family Services Employee Assistance Program) that provides it as a benefit, so why not?

So it was that last Friday, I spent over an hour on a Zoom call with a wonderful woman named Susan as we started to discuss my goals, look at what I wanted to make happen and explore some ways to make that happen. It was shocking to me how encouraging she was; there was no “no you can’t do that,” and very little negative language. In fact, the only negative language was coming out of me, and she was very quick to correct it and put me back on a better trajectory.

It was also interesting how I’m really already on the path. I’ve set some deadlines, making some hard work happen and making some hard choices. I’m looking at my options, and even though I perceived my use of the resources my job gives me to my own ends as parasitic, she helped me to reframe that as just realizing the possibilities of my resources. It’s less about being selfish as much as it’s about self-care. We have benefits at work – so let them benefit me!

In the short term, I’ve reignited my use of my daily journal (basically every counsellor and coach I’ve ever had harps on it; it’s time I get more consistent), and I’m making plans to start doing a bit more every day. I already practice and write every day, but I also need to set time aside to “do paperwork”. And that’s one I’m well behind on. I’m actually a bit slow at work lately, so I’m going to use some of that capacity in the short term to catch up on that and get myself set up for future success.

And then there’s the books.

While I do like the idea of journaling, self-help books are a bit grating to me and a few were recommended. They just seem to go on and on, and then you get one good nugget of info. I’ve put a few on my reading list per Susan’s suggestion, but I’m not sure how deep I’ll delve into them. But I will try.

Oh, and – the encouragement. I’ve gotta say there was nothing more valuable than having someone who understood my frustration and my dreams just yelling “YES” at me across an internet connection. Don’t get me wrong, Rhonda is supportive, and Mom tries to be enthusiastic. But there’s something about someone who’s also pursued a life in the arts telling me that YES, I CAN DO THIS, that is just the bee’s knees. I think I needed someone to give me more than permission.

I think it’s gonna be a really interesting winter. There are lots of cool things ahead. 

Is summer really going to end?

Rhonda and I were discussing recently how once the kids were gone, we were going to start taking our holidays in the fall when the weather is a bit more moderate, there are fewer people at campgrounds, and it's just easier to get time off. 

I've always hated how so many people just give up on the outdoors as soon as Labour Day is behind us. Sure, for the kids, summer necessarily ends when they go back to school. But for me, little has changed beyond the month I write at the top of my journal every morning. 

This past weekend really reinforced that for me. I went to my first Doylefest, a little folk festival at Eagle Creek Regional Park near Asquith. In true folk-festival form, it was a camping-only festival with a great group of musicians and music lovers. I'm not exactly the biggest folk-nerd, but these were my people, and it was a really great weekend outside! 

Wasn't it cold at night? You bet your damn bippy it was. But when has that ever been a hindrance for me? I had a good tent, lots of blankets and clothes, and I was ready and happy to be out there enjoying myself. If I'd attended with a few other people, I would have had a big fire and brought the camper along just to further my comforts. As I sat at the main stage on Sunday morning, basking in the sun, buzzing from my own recent performance and sipping my delicious coffee, it occurred to me that this weekend could go on forever. Maybe I wouldn't go home. 

But then again, so much of this is about letting seasons affect our behaviour. Obviously, when it rains, you need an umbrella, and when it's cold, you need a jacket, but why do we decide to hibernate the second it gets less than ideal? I've always wished that I had taken up snowmobiling or another outdoor winter sport. Something to get me out in the sun so I can stave off the seasonal affective disorder a bit. 

I did get some snowshoes for Christmas a few years ago, but I've only really had a couple of opportunities to use them. And with my endlessly encroaching gout, I don't know how many more opportunities I'll get to use them. But I heard that the Farmer's Almanac is predicting lots of snow this year, so who knows? Maybe this is the year. 

I don't exactly know what I've got planned for the next few weeks, but I'm going to find things. Football games, maybe some walking in the parks, and I'll hopefully find myself a way to enjoy as much of 2025 as I have left. 

Let's go for a swim

I had a weird liminal space dream about a week ago. I was in a vast area underground of stacked halls with tall columns, all in pale white marble or limestone. It was located underneath a city, and I remember wondering which level I'd go through that would pop up to the surface - though it never came. At one point, I really wanted my flashlight, and somehow I knew - I'd have to wake up to go get it. 

So with that unsettled, offness that can follow a nocturnal liminal adventure, it was quite stunning to stumble across YouTuber, TangoTek, playing a game called "Pools." So I stopped for a bit and watched what he was playing. Another escape into the liminal.

I started with the demo, which features Level 1, a complex of interconnected, waist-deep pools. The facility is dotted with the occasional waterslide, bottomless pit diving boards, deck chair, rubber ducky and a couple of very unsettling environmental occurrences. While occasionally unsettling, I would actually very much like to be able to wander through a place like this myself. Especially if the water was very warm, it would be sort of a sauna wander. Some areas in Level 1 are very dark and secluded. Places like grottos and tunnels are the kind of place you could cop a feel - or lose an arm, 

For all of its minimalist simplicity, the game is stunning both in the visual and audio spaces. It's actually why I tried the demo first, I wasn't sure if my Costco laptop was gonna handle it. It does, but it sags a bit from the heat. 

This one is better with headphones for sure, each room sounds and echoes differently. But it's in the audio space that the simplicity of going for a stroll gets amped up into the horror genre. Or at least high anxiety. You can hear machinery moaning, the building creaking and occasionally footsteps and voices where there shouldn't be. My biggest complaint about the whole game is that your footsteps sound like you're wearing army boots. I feel like it should sound barefoot. You encounter statues throughout the playthrough and they're all naked. 

To be sure, it reflects tense feelings visually as well. The facility switches from brightly lit and maybe sharing a wall with the outside to dark, with only pool lights to guide your way forward. 

The game also seems to read your mind at times. In one of the middle levels, I got to thinking how weird it was that there weren't any doors. And shortly thereafter, doors begin to appear. And just as you're thinking that the tile everywhere is so repetitive that you can't tell which way is up and which way is down, the game takes a turn into movement that can only happen in a dream. 

And this is where this game really sticks to the feelings of the dream I mentioned at the start. It's an enormous place, like the underground labyrinth my dream took place in. It's lonely, and the only instinct that serves you is curiosity and exploration. As a regular player of games like Zelda, I was always looking for clues or a puzzle to solve, but it was never there. Just as the Steam description promises, there are no enemies, no antagonist, no story and no jump scares. It gets tense, but there's never anything to kill you. 

The game does have a death mechanic, but instead of starting you over at the start of the level, it just rewinds your progress about 30 seconds or so to the point before you died. For the most part, you die by falling or drowning - but you are still asked to take a few leaps of faith in the game to progress. 

Overall, the game captures that backrooms/liminal space well. There are parts that are reminiscent of Silent Hill, especially in the odd constructions that don't make sense. And there are parts towards the end of the game that elicit the imagery at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, when Dave has gone through the technicolour wormhole and is walking around in his spacesuit before becoming an old man. 

Pools is a good deal for the $13 or so you pay for the game. If you have someone in your house who might play through it as well, it's a steal. If you're looking for a few hours of distraction with a game that isn't really a game at all, I encourage you to check it out! 

I saw the Navigator this weekend

I even poked him in the back.

This weekend was the not-so-exciting but emotional sequel to our grandma's funeral from this past January. We gathered in Melville to inter her and meet as a family. 

The gathering was much more intimate than the funeral, with only the direct descendants gathering. While there was some focus on keeping the family together and united, I never feel like I get enough time at these things to meet with everyone. When I say I poked the Navigator in the back, I think that's about the extent of the interaction I got with him. I talked with a few of my aunts and uncles, but again no real catching up. 

I always somewhat dreaded family reunions in the past, but coming out of this, I do hope we have one for this slice of the family sometime soon. I'd like to spend more time catching up with cousins, aunts and uncles soon. It seems the only time I've seen any of them in the last few years has been to help grandma move or mourn her loss.

It was a bit of a low weekend overall. Rhonda was out of town, which meant I had a lot more on my plate. In addition to the funeral, Jonas's team suffered a pretty humiliating defeat on Sunday night that was capped by a season-ending injury to their slotback. It was so bad that they called the game 4 minutes early to bring an ambulance onto the field. And that was the second player they've lost for the season already. But Jonas made his first reception, so I guess there was a bit of a silver lining. 

Beyond that -a bad rental car, a depressed dog and our water being shut off for 3 days because of the construction out front made for a pretty frustrating and depressing weekend. 

But I think I'm getting it turned around. I played on the Bushwakker stage for the first time last night and had a great time meeting some other musicians and singing songs for people. Between playing at the funeral and the 'Wakk - it's been a busy week of rehearsing. And I've got more coming right away with a little performance at the library for Nuit Blanche on Saturday and another gig in Asquith SK on the 6th. They're all little gigs but they give me a chance to network and spread some more stickers around! 

You're both right

In a time of conflict and fighting among the friends of the world, I come to you today with an olive branch. A realization that sometimes - we're all correct. 

That's right, I'd like to talk about our favourite man-made system to argue about, our units of measurement. 

Now, before we start, it's been pretty clear to me that a lot of this is really about experience and perception. I was playing a game online recently, and one of the guys was insistent that Celsius could never work because, in Fahrenheit, you know that anything over 70 is hot. Like, yeah, but metric people just know that anything over 30 is hot for us. I feel the same way about miles and kilometres. They're interchangeable; you just need to get used to the one that's used on the signs. 

But at the same time, each system does have its strengths and weaknesses. Like in the example above, I think that Celsius does have strength in its anchor around boiling and freezing. It conceptualizes a wide range of temperatures well. I've also thought that the inch is a better size for measurement, and I really like how the foot divides into 12 instead of 10. 

And let's talk about that. 

Metric advocates will talk about how multiplying by 10 makes everything easier. They're right in many respects. Its strength is especially evident when you move between different types of measurement, like from length to volumes to pressures and beyond. They're all very elegantly interconnected, and I find that really satisfying. 

But I've done a lot of work in feet and inches, and I'm telling you, there's something magical about the number 12 and how you can divide it evenly. With 10's you can only divide by 1, 2, 5 and 10 evenly. But 12? Well, 12 you can divide by 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 12. Double that to 24, and shit just gets bananas. For the tradesperson, this is really useful. 16 has some of these advantages too. Honestly, I think had we invented the Imperial system after the computer, we would use 24 as our base. 

Nationalism would tell me that Canada is officially metric, and in these trying times, I should be arguing for the home team. 

Oh please. 

First of all, yes, the US uses the Imperial system, but it's not like they invented it. Where do you think the word "Imperial" comes from? The British Empire friend. It's as much a part of Canada's history as it is for any other country. In my area of the country, the gravel road grid is still measured in miles. 

Not to mention, this country has never fully converted to metric, and at this point, I don't think we ever will. I could go into some detail about this, but I think this video describes it best. (Note, it took me a few views to get the screw joke - this was written by an outsider, but one that did his homework!)

All this to say, I will never know how many kilograms I weigh, I'll always buy a gallon of milk and a litre of pop, and I have no idea what to wear when it's 30°F out. And I don't think it's worth arguing about if it works. 

Until it doesn't.

What are your favourite units of measurement? Have you ever thought about inventing a unit? 

A Sticky Situation

Almost 18 years ago, I awoke on the day following my wedding with a seriously sore ankle. Looking at the comments on that post nearly 2 decades later, I wish I'd taken the Navigator's advice and cut the damn thing off. And to the anonymous poster - yes, I do wear those brown orthopedic shoes. 

And I'm walking with my cane again. 

Yeah, I'm back on the stick. Rhonda and I took a lovely walk through Wascana Trails on Sunday. And by walk, I mean stumble and climb and hope we can get back up the hill. It didn't hit me then, but I certainly woke up yesterday feeling it. 

Contrary to the conclusions of my doctor at the time, the ensuing 20 years have revealed that it most certainly is gout - and probably a nice healthy dose of arthritis too. I've got medications for the gout, but I do need to be a bit more careful about going off-road with this 80-year-old body. Have I mentioned I also have glaucoma, and I take drops every day to treat that? Peachy. 

Walking with a cane isn't the classic, stylish endeavour I'd always imagined it would be. It's a lot less Victorian gentleman and more cranky, wobbly Dr. House. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm House because I feel that grumpy. But my medical diagnosis skills aren't there. I'm 3 for 68.

And it seems I use that damn thing more and more all the time. 

I recently re-read "The Hound of the Baskervilles", the Sherlock Holmes book by Arthur Conan Doyle. The book opens with Holmes and his ever-present assistant, Watson, inspecting the walking stick of one Dr. James Mortimer. They deduce that he worked at Charing Cross Hospital, had a dog and had moved his medical practice into the country.  

Sometimes I look at my own walking stick with that same eye. Like Dr. Mortimer, I have a dog who has picked up my stick a time or two. Her teeth marks are pretty evident. And it's my right foot that bothers me the most, you can tell by the way the handle and rubber tip have worn. And I imagine you could come to some conclusion about how I spend my money based on the fact that this is clearly a lower-cost handmade item and not some mass-produced aluminum and rubber deal you get at the drugstore. Although I have one of those, too. Maybe I need to get it engraved or bound with brass to give more clues about me. Or maybe I stay a bit mysterious. Or maybe I don't forget my cane at the private residence of England's greatest private detective. 

But as fun as it is to play detective and look like I took a dumdum bullet in the Boer War, being on a stick is uncomfortable, inconvenient and generally a pain in the ass. Not only is there the pain of my foot, but having to adjust to walking on a stick causes soreness all over the body after a while. You don't just lose a foot, you generally lose a hand since you're always holding the damn cane. Not to mention, every time you lean it up against something to take a pee or grab something, it inevitably falls to the ground.

But I am thankful for ramps, automatic doors and buses that can lower their decks. As much as I've always tried to avoid misusing accessibility infrastructure so that those who need it have it, I'm glad it's there now when I need it. 

And then there's the motivation-draining aspect of this whole thing. Like I don't wanna do ANYTHING right now. I could be forgiven for wanting to avoid building a barn or cleaning house, but I don't even want to sit and play video games or play guitar - like non-standing things. I just want to lie around. 

Ah well. Hopefully, it fades off by the end of the week, and I can start to feel like a normal person again soon.