Crap Weasels. This is my PsyDuck, a licensed Pokemon collectable given to me during a dark time in my life by Chet and Viv. His m.o. is to clutch at his head when thwarted or anxious. The larger the headache, the more powerful the attack when he finally loses control. Why is an old picture at the header today? My Fabulous kiddos gave me him at a time where I was clutching my head a bunch. I did it because I had willfully placed myself in situations where there wasn’t a bunch I could control, and I grabbed my skull unknowingly to keep from doing something worse. Why am I posting this today? I’m in the Bronx, and I have lost my phone, my professional connection and password storage, my way to track everything, my way finder. Since I injured my skull (again, and perhaps finally) in June, I have been placing more and more of my brain into it. I have come to rely on it as I swore I never would any single point source, certainly one that I don’t control. Did I mention it’s pink? Did I mention that it has a crack in the upper left hemisphere, with a small percentage of permanent damage under it. Art Imitates Life Imitates Art, I reckon. Brain Damage. Crap Weasels.
Off we go, with a little bit of personal triage. Can I remember any passwords? No. Can I dig them out of my laptop hardware? This is what I have Google Passwords and MS Authenticator for after all! Phew, tap a key and we’re good to go. Once we find our bright pink phone, our secure digital brain, that thing that is ringing right now and going straight to voicemail. Can I ask Natty B for help? Oh, HELL, no! She is great, she is not in the room with me because she’s working her magic. If I drive to where she is, it may help. It will distract from what we’re both here for, and once I’m there, I will have to navigate back. Let’s leave it there for now, with the one I lean on as I lean on my smartphone. Oh, Double Crap Weasels. #braindamaged
