This was a frustrating day physically but a rewarding one on another front, when a cranky autistic toddler who dislikes almost everyone unexpectedly befriended me. Younger kids don’t always know what to make of me, which I suspect is mostly a byproduct of my (old) monotone and (newish) hypomimia; they prefer more excitement and enthusiasm than I probably seem to offer.
Maybe that made me more approachable to this particular tot, who brought me a toy she wanted to play with after Crankenstein and I dined with her parents. We did that for a bit and she ran up to me later, tapping my knee to make sure I was paying attention. She then hesitantly leaned forward and whispered something I couldn’t hear, and I asked her to repeat it. “I love you!” she blurted out, and it melted my heart a bit even though she undoubtedly says the same thing to Goldfish crackers.
In other news, though my post-Covid sense of smell remains so dismal that even Muriel’s odorless, I was able to taste at maybe 5% to 10% today. That’s the second time this has happened so far, and the first time around those powers quickly vanished again, so we’ll see what tomorrow’s breakfast brings. We’ll also see whether FedEx delivers the walking sticks that were supposed to show up yesterday. With some distance from the last PT appointment, I can see how silly it is to rationalize not trying a brace just yet — it’s not like a walking stick can stabilize my ankle, even if it aids my balance in other ways.
Why wasn’t I ready to say ‘OK, let’s try it’ on Thursday? I’ve not given it a ton of thought yet but assume it’s as simple as preferring to think I have more control over some of this than I do. After discussing it with Crankenstein on a walk yesterday, my left foot dragging as usual, I’ll tell the PT at our next appointment that I’m willing to be fitted for a brace, preferably one that can be concealed by a pant leg since I’m not ready to look like RoboCop just yet.
Finally, I ended the day by making a small donation to Kamala Harris via ActBlue. It’s hard to say whether she would’ve gotten my vote in a 2024 presidential primary: I likely would’ve gone with Warren again, or possibly Whitmer, if they’d run. Currently I’m worried about who Harris will select as a running mate, because Beshear strikes me as an uninspired choice being pushed by donors and pundits who don’t necessarily understand too much about red and purple states. Shapiro’s fine on paper but the far-left has a major antisemitism problem right now that bad actors could easily exploit on social media.
If I had my druthers, Whitmer would be the VP pick, but I don’t think the DNC is ballsy enough — or rather, has the ovaries — for that. Who does that leave us with? Buttigieg and O’Rourke would alienate some of the people Beshear or Shapiro might appeal to. Kelly doesn’t have much in the way of charisma, but Arizona’s a better bet for Democrats than Kentucky. Whatever happens at the convention, I’m ready for George Clooney to shut the hell up and for Aaron Sorkin to please never write about politics again.