Diabetes Clinic

I dread these things, fearing the worst always, or at least a step towards the worst. But the results in this morning were not all that bad. My A1c, the measure of my average blood sugar over the past 3 months or so, was steady at 7.0, same as it was last year. In the past it was as high as 7.4 and as low as 6.6. It could be lower again if I become more diligent about taking my medicine. My cholesterol didn't raise any concern, but my resting blood pressure, the lower number, is too high, but not quite high enough to give me another prescription.

The doctor was ill so I only saw the nurse and dietitian. On the whole it was quite painless this time.

Earth Hour

Earth Hour has come and gone. Last year Danzante, Gerry, myself and a few friends celebrated Gerry's birthday on this day. We lit candles (which give off as much heat as light bulbs) and watched the surrounding buildings from their penthouse condo to see the lights go off. We didn't notice anything obvious.

This year I was alone at home. I turned off everything but a small night light in the kitchen and the television, and watched the DVD I had rented. Most people would chastise me for not turning the TV off, but I am not into sitting in the dark or doing actions for show only.

The truth is I normally keep most of the lights off when I am home alone in the evenings. I never turn on the heat in my apartment, even in winter. I microwave instead of using the oven when possible and I recycle everything, including the ends of toilet paper rolls. I only watch DVDs 3-4 hr/wk. I walk or use public transit, and before that I used my bicycle instead of a car, even when I traveled. I have never been wasteful and detest unnecessary packaging.

Now that they've had their little show most people will go back to bombing around in their cars, firing up their barbecues and hot tubs and making lots of garbage. But sustainability is not a show. It's away of life. Their mini-effort for Earth Hour, sans candles, would have to be repeated continuously for four years for each cross-continental airline flight they make, if they were serious about wanting to live within a sustainable carbon footprint. I never hear about people changing their vacation plans for the sake of the planet.

technology

I am having a hard time adjusting to the 21st century. I suppose I had a hard time with the 20th century too, never having been much interested in technology. I've never owned a car, a walkman, 8-track, cassette player I-pod, Blackberry, laptop, hair dryer, and half the electronic conveniences of the modern age that most consider to be essentials. Not even a battery-operated dildo. Toyz R NOT Us! I haven't had a TV for 30 years either, though now I have a set with no television reception I use only for DVDs. I love my computer for e-mails, writing and google.

Anyway, Fred and Eric bought me a cell phone for Christmas, my first. It's definitely a good idea, especially for safety reasons as I could fall in some out of the way place and not be able to get back up. I have loaded in most of my friends phone numbers but only plan to use it when I am meeting up with friends away from home or calling from work.

For a couple months I was unable to get messages. I think I unknowingly set my ringer to half a ring and couldn't figure out how to access my messages. Eric finally helped me change the settings and select a tune but to date I have still only caught a couple calls in 3 months.

Last week I was leaving my building on my way to meet my friend Kal to see a film. A fellow passed me on coming in and his cell went off. I noted the tune and said to myself "I like that tune. I wish i had that on my phone." As he walked away from me the music didn't fade. I realized it was coming from my pocket. Blush.

100 day writing mission

For the past 3 years I have been stuck at a critical point of my novel, Chapter 27. I haven't actually been working on it much. I've evaded facing my confusion over how the plot should thicken by revising the previous 26 chapters, which I have now done to my satisfaction, at least for now.

But enough is enough. I need to put my nose to the grindstone and tackle it head on. I have decided to make a 100-day push to get it done. I am keeping a writing journal and focusing on NOT getting derailed again. Yesterday I spent a couple hours working on it and actually made some progress. At least it's a start.

One distracting factor that might have become an obstacle eliminated itself yesterday. Last weekend I met a rather cute Chinese man who seemed quite smitten with me and definitely wanted to see me again. I could even see myself dating him, in spite of past experiences with Chinese men I've tried to date. I don't mean to be racist but there are certain stereotypes that have been reinforced almost every time. This fellow, like the others, has a financial career, works extended hours, has very few if any friends, lives a closeted life with members of his extended family and although he's well into adulthood he has almost no romantic or sexual history. Even vanilla sex is too risque for most Chinese guys I've met and definitely no public displays of affection are allowed.

In spite of being cute, affectionate and obviously smitten with me last weekend, he was uncomfortable being touched, did not care about being sexually satisfied and his kisses, tight-lipped as a clam shell, consisted of bumping his mouth on my face near but not on my lips. At least he was caring and had more passion than other Chinese guys I had tried to date. It has been a LONG time since I have dated anyone so I thought I'd give it a little more time.

He agreed to spend Saturday night with me. I made it clear that my invitation was for ALL night - in bed - naked - and he agreed to this a bit hesitantly. He works 5 hours on Saturday, his choice of hours, and he told me he likes to get up at 6:30 am even on Saturdays. He would likely be finished by mid-afternoon and I presumed we would have most of the rest of the day and night together. He agreed to call me on Friday to confirm.

I thought I'd make him dinner, but when he didn't call Friday I couldn't confirm what he would like to eat. I decided it might be better to take him out for dinner and that would allow me more time to write. Before I knew it, it was 5pm. I stopped writing, and showered and changed my clothes. By 6:30 I realized dinner was not in the offing so I made myself a light meal. Another friend dropped by at 7 and to quell my frustration I suggested we play a board game. My "date" called finally between 7:30 and 8. He had arrived home at 6:30, having started early morning. I wasn't upset. I told him I was playing a board game with a friend and encouraged him to join us. He said we'd long be finished before he got there, which meant he wasn't coming for a couple more hours. At 10:30 long after the game finished, I called and got his answering machine.

He never did show up or call. Just as well I suppose. It's financial season and I doubt he'll need friends or lovers for at least another 10 or 20 years....

So, this is Day 2 of my writing push and I will have all afternoon to write, without distractions. Work is the best medicine for dispelling unwanted romance. :o)

Riding home on the bus Monday, I was standing beside a fellow who had an Olympics pass hanging around his neck. When he looked the other way I checked it out. He was a bus driver, probably one of he few hundred American ones who were given the jobs instead of hiring Canadians.

I have no strong feelings about it, certainly not against the bus drivers themselves who got to see our city and were given this break from the harder economic times south of the border. I struck up a conversation with him and he was eager to talk. He was from Philadelphia. He said his visit has caused him to change his favourite Canadian city from Toronto to Vancouver. He didn't have much of a chance to see anything during the regular Olympics but work was lighter now and he could explore the city.

His one sour note was the final big night when the Canadian men's hockey team squeaked out a win over the American team to win gold. He said he overheard some blatantly anti-American comments from Canadian fans that hurt. Not good sportsmanship, he said, and I agreed. Canadians are smug and superior in their treatment of Americans. It is sometimes justifiable, but then the only things that need justification are failures and mistakes. We were busy patting ourselves on the back for being such good hosts while bad-mouthing our guests.

How is it that we come to the conclusion that the Olympic Games build bridges between nations?

Paralympics begin......

The opening ceremonies of the Paralympics are underway. I am not sure if most people remember, especially in other cities, but even here in Vancouver and on the national news service (CBC) they have received about the same amount of attention as the fact that the clocks switch to Daylight Savings Time at 2am tomorrow night.

My theory is that most publicized sports are driven by male viewers and men are generally threatened and repulsed by disabilities, by weaknesses in other men and anything vaguely medical. Psychological studies support this. Most women would agree. My dating life confirms it. But most men would likely disagree and tell you to change the subject. Most of them would be uncomfortable watching disabled men compete, and would argue that that's not "real" sport. Hockey tickets in the Winter Olympics went for over a thousand dollars each while sled hockey games at the Paralympics are selling for $30, and they are not sold out yet.

There was this fellow, a friend of a former friend, who I used to run into all the time at a local pub. He was a doctor, a gay one at that, who used to write porn when he was younger. He was extremely proud of his over-sized cock, which he was prone to pull out to show young men he hoped to seduce when the bartender was not looking. He would say to me that he understood what my life with muscular dystrophy must be like and that he would be there for me when I "needed him". That is to say, he would assist in my suicide when I couldn't stand the deterioration any longer. I never indicated to him, either in my manner or my words, that I ever considered suicide. I just assumed that the thought of me putting an end to it all was more of a comfort to him that it would be to me.

I never over-reacted. In fact, I found it rather funny and often called him "Dr. Kevorkian". He was strangely drawn to me and often said I must have been cute when I was younger. I was astonished and bemused by the outrageous things he frequently said, as he seemed to change feet every time he opened his mouth. "I don't usually do guys as old as you", he'd say --I'm 8 years older than him-- "and I've never done it with a gimp before." "I wouldn't want to spoil your perfect record," I'd tease him, or I'd lie and say "I'm not really into large cock."

The last time we spoke he commented on how good I was walking, that I looked better than before, although I am not. Perhaps my repulsion factor is fading. "Someday I'd like to see you in the Paralympics," he chimed suddenly, as if he had said something both kind and brilliant. I suggested that I could be strapped as padding to a tree along the ski course in case disabled skiers lost control. "No, seriously," he said, but how could anyone take him seriously.

But his pathetic comment still haunts and amuses me, especially with the Paralympics having come to town. I'm still shell-shocked from the noise and chaos of the Games that just ended and have little enthusiasm for this second round. But there are definitely more people in town. I tried to go out for a beer with friends tonight but there was NO room in my favourite pub. I even had to line up to get out again, so I might just lay low another week or two until its all over.

PS: It's snowing hard in the mountains again, now that the Winter Olympics have left town. I love Mother Nature's sense of humour.

Update

This morning I woke at 7am as usual, dozed off for a few minutes, got up and had my morning shower, started getting dressed and then laid back on the bed, allowing myself to sink under the seductive influence of my bed sheets. A few minutes later I gave up all resistance and curled up, half-dressed, for three more hours of sleep. I love the freedom of unplanned Saturdays.

It is such a change from last weekend when Canadian athletes surged to set the gold medal record for the Winter Olympics. The capping glory was the gold medal for men's hockey, the last medal of the Games. The game was against our American arch-rivals. It was won by an unlikely steep-angled shot by Sidney Crosby in overtime. The streets instantly became riotously loud and only dimmed partially for the closing ceremonies.

I watched the ceremonies at Aunty Tinkerbell's place. He wanted a cozy soiree with friends for the watching. Gerry and Danzante came over to my place in the afternoon to play Settlers of Catan, the Seafarer's version, and Flash came by, his first visit since returning from Colorado. Flash was wearing a scarf that was an American flag, a gift from another American fan who discarded it as soon as he saw the Canadians were likely to win. As we coaxed our way down to Tinkerbell's in Danzante's car, jubilant Canadian fans stopped us and offered Flash condolences and friendly handshakes.

I hadn't been keen to watch the closing ceremonies, knowing the rowdy madness of the fans in the streets, the over-furnished awkwardness of Tinkerbell's living room and the possible feeling of being trapped there until I got home. My elbow was swollen with an internal infection and I had been soaking it in hot, salty water several times the night before. I was hoping to use that as an excuse for staying home, but Danzante promised to drive me to and from so I relented. Two of Tinkerbell's "old girl" friends, Debbie and Edith, were there as well as Rainbow Strongheart. Later Garnet dropped by, and nine people were definitely too many for that small room.

The evening was everything I feared, and less. The closing ceremonies were unremarkable and wound down into disarray with a string of performances by little-known Canadian bands. But the time with friends cut into the invasive, almost-constant screaming that might have pulled me towards a state of semi-psychotic anxiety without that break. It was good to see Taylor too. He's the only person I know, other than myself, who has muscular dystrophy. His strength has eroded over the past three years, since I last saw him. He only travels on a scooter now. His ability to stand and maneuver himself though Tinkerbell's maze of plants and furniture is much more limited than mine. It was disconcerting, knowing this will likely be my fate. Tinkerbell says Garnet has been depressed a lot recently, and I did notice an air of resignation about him.

The cacophony of screaming, honking, chanting and cheering increased as soon as the flame was extinguished. I convinced Danzante to leave as soon as possible so he could get home safely. He dropped me off at home at 8:30. I went to bed before ten. I tried to drown out the nerve-wracking noise with music but I wasn't able to sleep until almost 5am. I took Monday morning off, knowing I couldn't think without sleep. When I did go in it was still very hard to answer the calls. My only consolation was that it was only for half a day.

Robert Golling and his bf Michi made it back to Germany safely. They were able to meet me together at the Fountainhead a week ago Thursday. Michi is petite, but sexy. As an athlete he is totally into the Games. Half the athletes we watched on the screen he knew. They both found it disconcerting that Canadians would walk right up to them and say, without a proper introduction, things such as "You have beautiful eyes!" They also asked if pot is legal here, as they smelled it everywhere. Michi was afraid he'd test positive for THC. He told me whenever he and Robert were walking through a crowd, Robert would shout "pot" when he smelled it and Michi would cover his nose with his hands. They said that happened multiple times each block. The image of them doing this tickles my imagination.

I wrote to Robert last Saturday, the day after he arrived home. Since then we have exchanged two more emails. He says I have rekindled his interest in writing by relating the outline of my novel to him. I have sent him the first chapter, which he has promised to read this weekend.

The French boys, Eric and Fred, moved back to their rooms at Seymour and Pender on Monday, leaving behind a smattering of odds and ends that need to be returned to them. They have friends from France visiting them at the moment.

Darlene-The-Ambassador's-Wife (also known as Darlene TAW) called me last night. His purpose was awkwardly described to me, as though he had not considered what to say, although he had called me. There is this social service agency in Ladner which has a residential facility with a series of small transom windows. As far as he was able to describe, the agency permits families of clients who have died there to install commemorative stained glass windows in them. They used to have a firm that made the windows for the families but that agency seems to have disappeared. He was wondering if I would take up the for-profit work for the remaining transoms. That was a pleasant surprise. He wants to take me out there sometime this week if the director is on duty. He will call me at 10am tomorrow.

Not much else is new. I have spend the past week catching my equilibrium in the deaden silence that has followed in the wake of the Games. The inflammation in my elbow is gone, leaving behind it a pocket of water that acts as a gel-pad when I rest my forearm on the armrest of my office chair. I was monitored last week and for the most part the feedback is all good, but Alicja, my Team Leader, didn't have time to go over the notes with me. It's a gloriously sunny day today, but it is expected to be mostly cloudy and wet for the coming week.