All went well with the orthodontist yesterday. A hot x-ray tech (He was tall, handsome with curly dark hair, and a nice butt.) took some better images of my hand and wrist. The orthopedist then showed me the x-tays, having to blow up one of them to a larger image so I could see where the small fragment broke off. She put me in a brace that I can remove. She said that she’d put a cast on it if I wanted her to, and I said, “No thank you.” Apparently, this small chip will heal in about six weeks. I’m not sure if that includes the three weeks since it happened or an additional six weeks.
Regardless, she said it is going to be slightly swollen and hurt but it will eventually heal on its own. She said it shouldn’t bother me too much except that I shouldn’t do any yoga or push-ups until it’s healed because that would be painful. I told her that she didn’t have to worry about that. I told her that writing, especially signing my name hurt the most, and she said that was normal. The motions involved using that little bone I broke, but it would not damage it any further. If my wrist begins hurting worse or it’s not better in six weeks to call her back and she’d look at it again, but she didn’t foresee any problems.
Sable clouds by tempest driven, Snowflakes whirling in the gales, Hark—it sounds like grim wolves howling, Hark—now like a child it wails! Creeping through the rustling straw thatch, Rattling on the mortared walls, Like some weary wanderer knocking— On the lowly pane it falls.
Fearsome darkness fills the kitchen, Drear and lonely our retreat, Speak a word and break the silence, Dearest little Mother, sweet! Has the moaning of the tempest Closed thine eyelids wearily? Has the spinning wheel’s soft whirring Hummed a cradle song to thee?
Sweetheart of my youthful Springtime, Thou true-souled companion dear— Let us drink! Away with sadness! Wine will fill our hearts with cheer. Sing the song how free and careless Birds live in a distant land— Sing the song of maids at morning Meeting by the brook’s clear strand!
Sable clouds by tempest driven, Snowflakes whirling in the gales, Hark—it sounds like grim wolves howling, Hark—now like a child it wails! Sweetheart of my youthful Springtime, Thou true-souled companion dear, Let us drink! Away with sadness! Wine will fill our hearts with cheer!
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ЗИМНИЙ ВЕЧЕР
Буря мглою небо кроет, Вихри снежные крутя: То, как зверь, она завоет, То заплачет, как дитя, То по кровле обветшалой Вдруг соломой зашумит, То, как путник запоздалый, К нам в окошко застучит.
Наша ветхая лачужка И печальна и темна.— Что же ты, моя старушка, Приумолкла у окна? Или бури завываньем Ты, мой друг, утомлена, Или дремлешь под жужжаньем Своего веретена?
Выпьем, добрая подружка Бедной юности моей, Выпьем с горя; где же кружка? Сердцу будет веселей. Спой мне песню, как синица Тихо за морем жила; Спой мне песню, как девица За водой поутру шла.
Буря мглою небо кроет, Вихри снежные крутя: То, как зверь, она завоет, То заплачет, как дитя. Выпьем, добрая подружка Бедной юности моей, Выпьем с горя; где же кружка? Сердцу будет веселей.
About the Poet
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (Александр Сергеевич Пушкин) was born on June 6 [O.S. May26] 1799 and died on February 10 [O.S. January 29] 1837) was a Russian poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic era. He is considered by many to be the greatest Russian poet and the founder of modern Russian literature.
Pushkin was born into the Russian nobility in Moscow. His father, Sergey Lvovich Pushkin, belonged to an old noble family. His maternal great-grandfather was Major-General Abram Petrovich Gannibal, a nobleman of African origin who was kidnapped from his homeland and raised in the Emperor’s court household as his godson.
He published his first poem at the age of 15, and was widely recognized by the literary establishment by the time of his graduation from the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum. Upon graduation from the Lycée, Pushkin recited his controversial poem “Ode to Liberty”, one of several that led to his exile by Emperor Alexander I. While under the strict surveillance of the Emperor’s political police and unable to publish, Pushkin wrote his most famous play, Boris Godunov. His novel in verse, Eugene Onegin, was serialized between 1825 and 1832. Pushkin was fatally wounded in a duel with his wife’s alleged lover and her sister’s husband, Georges-Charles de Heeckeren d’Anthès, also known as Dantes-Gekkern, a French officer serving with the Chevalier Guard Regiment.
I wrote out a post last night asking about what little I did for New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. However, it disappeared, and I was in no mood to write it all over again. Basically, my plans for New Year’s Eve fell through, watched football instead, and on New Year’s Day, I cooked my traditional meal of collard greens, black eye peas, ham, and cornbread. There was actually little preparation to be done, which is a good thing because I had a terrific migraine all day. I had written more than just that, but instead of recreating what I’d written before, I’m going to ask the questions I ended that post with. What did you do New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day? Do you have any New Year’s traditions and do they have any special meaning?
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.
—Jeremiah 29:11
How many of you have made New Year’s resolutions? The real question is:
How many of you have already blown New Year’s resolutions?
I have read that in America, 25 percent of us blow or discard our resolutions by the end of the first day. Change can be so difficult that even people who want to change will most likely fall back into old patterns and not make change permanent. For this reason, I never make New Year’s resolutions. I have goals I want to work towards to better myself, but I do this all year long and don’t need a special day to do so.
Permanent change can be very difficult because we continue to hang around people who knew us before the change—we maintain old patterns in life that don’t want encourage change. Not many people like change. I know I don’t, but sometimes it’s necessary.
We also tend to compartmentalize ourselves. I think, for a lot of LGBTQ+ people we’ve been taught to keep parts of ourselves separated. And it makes sense because it helps us to survive. It helps us to make it through until we’re ready to come out, to deal with unaffirming family, or to keep ourselves safe when we’re out in public.
We get so used to doing this separation that we don’t even notice it anymore. And yet, at some point this compartmentalism stops serving us. It’s not a healthy way to live. You’re constantly trying to remember how to act in different situations when you should just be yourself.
The new year is here. Look at yourself. Are you the person you want to be? Are you being honest about who you are? If you have compartmentalized your life to the extent that it has become unhealthy, admit that it’s time for a change. I’m not going to say to make resolutions, but I do think we should set goals. Start out slow and integrate all parts of your life into one identity. Be intentional about taking steps towards the coming future. No matter what, refuse to let anything pull you back.
Joe
The Closet Professor 