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I got a perfect score, 30 out of 30, on the MoCA cognitive assessment test.
The NP administering the test blinked several times rapidly and shook her head. "I've never seen a patient do that before."
So, I am compis mentis.
###
Maybe it was the fear of being not compis mentis that put me in such a black mood yesterday.
Or maybe it was Memorial Day.
Back when I had the Little Store, Memorial Day was the first opportunity to make Significant Bank after a long, harsh, belt-tightening winter. The Little Store was a tourist operation, just a few hundred yards away from Ed Rickets' old laboratory in Monterey, California; the cash flow was seasonal. Memorial Day wasn't just a chance to make some dough; it was also a harbinger of sorts, a portent, an omen: If I could push 10 bottles of Dave's Insanity Sauce over the four-day holiday, then my business would survive, and my family would not starve.
But came that day in 2008 when nobody had any disposable income anymore, so nobody bought hot sauce or delightful chili-themed pottery or fabulous masks or charming retablos anymore.
And the Little Store died...
Slow Burn. That was the name of the store. Slow Burn.
I can barely look at that photo without tearing up.
Fuck Obama anyway.
At least, when COVID hit, Biden understood the recessionary forces it would unleash and mobilized the Small Business Administration to provide a small business safety net.
Obama did absolutely nothing for small businesses when the 2008 recession hit; he just utilized Dubya Bush's economic team to maintain the plutocracy. Slow Burn was just another business that was too small not to fail.
###
I also managed to fuck up my left knee. A pain in the back side of the knee, and because you can't stop moving, and your body must accommodate somehow, has managed to spread to other parts of your knee.
Did I do it gardening? I kneel a lot when I'm gardening.
Last time I did this was last fall when I was off to visit my good pal A in D.C., and she sent me home with the world's best icebag, which I am utilizing this morning to good effect.
Shortly, I must amble out to do errands. Maybe one of those errands should be going to the drugstore to score some kind of knee brace.
It's supposed to rain rather furiously, so I won't feel obligated to move very much the rest of the day. But the next three days include a lot of social activities, so I will be moving around.
The NP administering the test blinked several times rapidly and shook her head. "I've never seen a patient do that before."
So, I am compis mentis.
###
Maybe it was the fear of being not compis mentis that put me in such a black mood yesterday.
Or maybe it was Memorial Day.
Back when I had the Little Store, Memorial Day was the first opportunity to make Significant Bank after a long, harsh, belt-tightening winter. The Little Store was a tourist operation, just a few hundred yards away from Ed Rickets' old laboratory in Monterey, California; the cash flow was seasonal. Memorial Day wasn't just a chance to make some dough; it was also a harbinger of sorts, a portent, an omen: If I could push 10 bottles of Dave's Insanity Sauce over the four-day holiday, then my business would survive, and my family would not starve.
But came that day in 2008 when nobody had any disposable income anymore, so nobody bought hot sauce or delightful chili-themed pottery or fabulous masks or charming retablos anymore.
And the Little Store died...
Slow Burn. That was the name of the store. Slow Burn.
I can barely look at that photo without tearing up.
Fuck Obama anyway.
At least, when COVID hit, Biden understood the recessionary forces it would unleash and mobilized the Small Business Administration to provide a small business safety net.
Obama did absolutely nothing for small businesses when the 2008 recession hit; he just utilized Dubya Bush's economic team to maintain the plutocracy. Slow Burn was just another business that was too small not to fail.
###
I also managed to fuck up my left knee. A pain in the back side of the knee, and because you can't stop moving, and your body must accommodate somehow, has managed to spread to other parts of your knee.
Did I do it gardening? I kneel a lot when I'm gardening.
Last time I did this was last fall when I was off to visit my good pal A in D.C., and she sent me home with the world's best icebag, which I am utilizing this morning to good effect.
Shortly, I must amble out to do errands. Maybe one of those errands should be going to the drugstore to score some kind of knee brace.
It's supposed to rain rather furiously, so I won't feel obligated to move very much the rest of the day. But the next three days include a lot of social activities, so I will be moving around.
