So emo

I got a scar shaped like a heart.

Anniversary

Hey, it's been a whole month since I fell down went boom. I just had my first shower in a month and it was awesome!

New regimine

After every episode of The Wire, I do a set of reps.

Two-hand touch!

Got my splint off yesterday, good times. Now I can type two-handed, which is pretty damn revelatory. Did have some more cod-Kafka at the doctors: I called on Wednesday (like I did prior to my previous appointment) just to confirm and make sure everything was jake. I ask 'em, "So, I don't need to come in early for x-rays or anything," and they say, no, no, just come in at 12:30.

So, we get there at, like, 11:45, and when we check in, they tell me, Oh, man, before your appointment, you gotta go get x-rays. So we hustle down to the interminable first-come x-ray office on the first floor, wait with some screaming kids and an endless parade of elderly wraiths like this office is the end point of some katabasis. We're all anxious about getting x-rayed and then getting back by 12:30.

So, we do and we do, and we wait in this overcrowded office where it's so packed with wheelchairs that they're sending 'em out into the hall. At about 1:15, I go up and ask, hey, weren't we supposed to go at 12:30? ¿Que honda? ¿Que pedo?

Nope. Turns out that the real visit is scheduled for 1:30, and the x-ray "appointment" was scheduled for 12:30. That none of this was communicated was apparently all part of some elaborate game theory.

Anyway, got the staples out of my arm, and the splint off. Got to switch pain killers to something non-habit forming but not much fun. I have a heart-shaped cut on my elbow which is (I can't see it) apparently totally emo and Amy can't look at it because it's all too gross.

In other news, the giant fire that blazed two nights ago during America's Next Top Model, over at 3733 Midvale? Not a meth lab, far as we can tell. Amanda and Isaac took me over there on my daily constitutional, and it's just a gutted garage full of burned out pick-ups. I might try to sneak a camera over there just to see what I can get. Aside from the absolute toxic smell (the smoke from the fire was totally choking on the night of), it'd be a neat place to shoot nudes, but no one I know has any interest in being my nude model for scenes of urban blight, so…

It's not just me

I just found out that due to the amount of time Amy's had to take off, and the money caring for me has cost her, that we won't be able—and more to the point, she won't be able—to take the trip to Yosemite with her family that she's been planning since last summer. I knew I was going to be iffy on hiking, but I'd figured she'd still go. Major bummer. I mean, I can kind of let the consequences for me roll off my back to some extent just by focusing on my rehab, but Christ, I feel awful knowing what this has done to her.

Yeah, see, it's the going there thing…

At the hospital, the social worker that was handling my case said that the UCLA health advocates would contact me, put me in contact with UCLA's lawyers (who would generally help recover the cost of my stay without having to go through the personal injury rigmarole) and line me up for charities.

So, I get this urgent letter from the Health Advocates, and because neither of the phone numbers listed work (800 or 888), I gotta google 'em to get the right local contacts. I end up talking to them and come to find out that they only do the paperwork for Medical/care/SSI/what have you. And, they only do the paperwork if you have minor children (which is why they asked, "Are you sure your girlfriend isn't pregnant?" several times, and I'm like, "Jeez, I hope not. That's the last thing we need right now.") or if you're going to have a disability of over a year. Otherwise, the woman told me, you gotta go down to the Medical and Medicare offices in person. (Amy immediately asked "Why in person?" but I was too busy with my convivial, "Yes, yes, that makes sense," during the interview to ask, because I'm a dumbass.)

So, I guess that's put off until I can reliably get places, though I have to apply—and be rejected—before UCLA will issue their final billing. I realize that Health Advocates are really there for people who are worse off and really can't manage this—despite the accident being pretty fucking undesirable, I really am pretty fortunate on the whole—but I guess what makes me one of those damn socialists is that I really wish there was adequate funding to obviate the hassle for me too.

So… a phoner then?

I got a call about a week ago from someone from Internet Brands called about an ad I'd responded to in, I dunno, September, and just scheduled a phoner for Friday, because what the hell, I might as well recover right into a new job.