This is kind of an odd day.

The Super Bowl ended with a bang, apparently, as the Eagles slaughtered the favored Chefs. Favored, I guess because of Swift’s boyfriend, Trump endorsed, and received numerous disputed calls to get them there. I guess it is supposed to be one of the most lopsided Bowls ever.

The penny is, apparently, on it’s way out. It’s been well known that it takes more than penny to create a penny. It’s costing the tax payer money to create the smallest denomination of money. Jason also said that it costs twelve cents to create a nickel. That might be on its way out. Alarmists are upset as they believe that this could lead to bitcoin being the main currency. But, who knows. My first reaction is that there wouldn’t be any more $9.99 price tags any more. Would companies just have to make everything $10 or would it go to $9.95? I guess if the nickel disappears to, it’d be $9.90. There would have to be a lot of adjustments for savings accounts and things.

Using Wendy’s coupons, I scored two double cheese burgers, 12 pieces of nuggets, one small chili, a chicken wrap, and a medium drink for $21 ish dollars. That’s really good. With Amanda’s contribution of Subway and Red Lobster dinners tomorrow, I won’t be cooking all week. That’s really good with this type of economy. Actually, it can’t be beat.

Went to the foot doctor…. it’s operation time, apparently. One of my toes is really messed up and another well on the way. The doc was hoping that taping it down would help and it did, for a while, but it started popping up again anyway and rubbing against the top of my shoe.

I’m waiting on a call to schedule an appointment and confirmation that the insurance will cover it. There’s roughly a six week recovery period. Hoping that it’ll be all said and done before the weather becomes nice and I have to start mowing. It should. And, who knows, maybe the lack of mobility (as I’ll be wearing an operation bootie) will cause some weight gain that could help with the back surgery expectations. I don’t know how I feel about that but I may not have a choice. The toes aren’t going to get any better and just gain increasing arthritis as I go along.

Bonus – I have an appointment with a hand doctor next week for the developing arthritis in my knuckles. Isn’t that a hoot?

I always kind of considered myself immortal. Maybe not lifespan wise but body wise. Despite the anorexia, bone loss, and messed up spine, I’ve been doing well. I’m fairly cognizant. The bloodwork tends to come back well, save the thyroid which is being figured out, and I’m more physically active than at least 75% of the people my age. I don’t have diabetes, heart murmurs, or high cholesterol. I don’t know if I could do the stair stepper at the gym for an hour like I used to but I can walk miles without much trouble.

But arthritis… ? I don’t think there’s any supplements or preventive procedures for that. Once I have it, I have it.

— Googled what foods to avoid to reduce arthritis… ultra processed foods, high salt, trans fat, high sugar… I avoid all that crap now. If I didn’t, would I be worse? Would it be painful instead of just an increasing annoyance?

It’s a gift from mom, I guess. The arthritis.
Arthritis has caused her to have foot issues and her fingers are bent. Embarrassingly, I love the shape of her fingers. They’re unique, characteristic, functional, and completely her.

I never thought that I could have crooked fingers like that one day. I love mom but I don’t know if I want to be like mom. Mom is mom. She’s unique. She’s her own self and can never be replaced.

Maybe I thought I would be immortal or spared because I didn’t think I’d last that long. I’d burn out like a two cent match. I would never have bent fingers. I may not have much of a choice. It could be fated… not that I believe in fate.

Fate is an excuse.

But, I guess the real deal today is that it’s dad’s 85th birthday. He… um… he died some time ago. Lung cancer. Much like mom, he’s always in my thoughts. In my mind but, mom tends to be in the front, dad is in the back… in the shadows… punting me along. Sometimes harsh… as one of his favorite sayings was “You don’t listen.”

I guess I still don’t listen.

When I wos young and weighed a lot more, I was told repeatedly how much I looked like him… acted like him… I guess I wanted to be him. Not the verbally abusive, ice cream devourer, chain smoking, porcelain plate obsessed, him. But the strong, proud, take no BS him.

Maybe a combination of mom and dad’s best qualities could become me.

But… maybe not.
I still don’t listen and probably never will.

Despite my heritage, genes, and education, I’m not that smart when it comes to some things – even if the answer is waving sparklers and in a flashy neon suit.

I’m not kind. I’m not normal and I’m not unique.

As time continues, I’m increasingly grateful to those who put up with me. But I’m also more cynical, distrustful, and suspicious of everything and everyone else, rather it be a person, company, method, policy, or thought. Yes, this includes doctors and “good for me” as it’s just…. bull.

Maybe it’s good that dad died when he did and I can’t have children. With the state I am and how I perceive the world to be, I’d make them miserable.

Love you dad.