Thursday, August 21, 2025 – Day 373

Thursday, August 21, 2025

Good morning—survived another night of twisted sheets.

Every night, multiple times, I wake up to the sound of my Darth Vader breathing. That’s when I realize I’m tangled in the hoses of the machine, mouth so dry it feels like I’ve been chewing on sandpaper. The supplier promised me a humidifier, but of course it’s back-ordered. The one they did have in stock was broken—lucky me. So each night, as I crawl into bed, I ask myself: Do I really want to deal with this contraption again? Then I bargain: Just one more night… just one more night. But I’m about at the point where I’ll say, “F*ck it!” and risk the carbon dioxide headaches instead. Neither choice is good—here’s hoping that humidifier arrives soon.

We’ve been trying to get to the outdoor pool at the fitness club before it closes at the end of the month. It’s a nice spot to kick back and read, though I still haven’t taken the plunge. I’ve always dreaded that first icy dip—even though the shock only lasts a second or two. It takes me back to my triathlon training days in Lake Michigan, when the water felt like it came straight from a glacier. Even with a wetsuit, I shivered through most swims.

One morning in particular stands out. Just before sunrise after a rainy night, a thin fog hovered over the lake. The water was perfectly flat, not a ripple—eerie but calm. It seemed like an ideal morning for a swim.

That illusion ended about 25 yards into the swim, when I brushed against something. Probably just a branch, I thought. But on my next breath, I turned my head and found myself inches away from a dead crow, floating right at face level. I nearly inhaled it. Pure panic. Arms flailing, I thrashed at the bird—just in case it wasn’t actually dead—then bolted for shore, lungs heaving, heart racing, and all thoughts of training forgotten. That was it. I wasn’t sticking around to see what other Vincent Price horror props might be lurking beneath the fog.

So today we’ll head over to the pool again. I’ll probably be thinking of Vincent Price while I’m there… so I’ll just stay safely on the deck in the wheelchair.

We bring the push wheelchair because I can’t get out of the lounge chairs, and the molded plastic ones are downright torture. After 30 minutes my butt aches, and it’s not much better in the chair…after an hour things start to ache. This sitting thing has become a problem no matter where I park myself. After a while, I end up squirming around, trying to shift pressure points. It helps a little, but not enough. Probably time to order some kind of air cushion from my favorite supplier—Amazon.

Every day these little annoyances show up, and before I know it, they’re not just annoying—they start affecting the quality of my day. We’ve managed to work through them so far, but each day brings a little more challenge.

Take last night, for example. We were downstairs watching tv and I had to pee. I was wearing my magnetic shorts. No problem there, but my hands weren’t cooperating with the opening in my underwear. So I dropped my shorts and stepped out of them—problem solved. Since it was bedtime, I didn’t put them back on and carried them out of the bathroom. Cindy looked at me and asked why I wasn’t wearing my shorts. In my weak, hoarse voice, I told her I was having trouble with my underwear fly. She gave me a funny look and repeated back what she thought she heard: “You have a fly in your underwear?!?” That cracked me up, and I couldn’t explain a thing after that—I was laughing too hard. Eventually, she figured it out, and then we were both laughing. A good moment to end the night on.

Everybody have a good Thursday. Love you guys! ❤️