look at me still talking when there's science to do

I did manage to get to Pike Place Market today.

And this is where I have to thank whatever great fluffy lord is watching my steps because now that i have the wheelchair, i can go somewhere, enjoy myself AND not have to cut out early or take three times my usual pain meds as a result. And I feel GOOD afterwards, not like something that's been run over by a fleet of ravening postal demons.

I actually went to parts of the market I usually miss or glance over. I had a sandwich and could eat while travelling (something I could never do before). I can actually do a decent amount of shopping and not worry about getting it home (thanks to these bags that i keep in my purse and this bag that i use for heavy shopping - the second one is about three feet across and two feet deep and made of super strong canvas. It fits perfectly across wheelchair handles, for those inclined toward that method of transport..

And to make my life even better i found a perfect replica of my favorite tim horton's chocolate dip donut. i bit into it and almost cried.

americans do not as a rule know how to make donuts. seattle is luckier than most cities because it has two relatively decent local-chain style donut bakers, and Portland has Voodoo Donuts (i adore the Captain Crunch one) but most other places are left to suffer with krispy kreme. (yes, i know they're better hot. they're still not real donuts. and dunkin' donuts are suspicious.) canadians know how to make good donuts. this is one of the things which make us special. we can also watch hockey as it was meant to be: without the goddamn blue dot on the puck.

mmm. canada.

oh, right - i figured out what to do about the guarantour thing. i think.

chezmax was right, it can be done by any canadian passport holder - but they're hard to find in Seattle, and they would have to fill out the form AND sign the back of one of my photographs - god, i detest this stupid bureaucratic bullshit. It's put there supposedly so Bad Guys can't just get a passport, i guess - although the folks in Ottawa apparently didn't realize that if the Bad Guys really wanted one they could just pay off a doctor or some other "authorized" person. (under the old rules you had to find a person who was employed in one of a certain set of white collar occupations that you had known for two years that could supposedly vouch for you not being a Bad Guy. this strikes me as unbelievably classist, but whatever.) so i'm hoping to use the old rules (because i still can, filing from the US) and get my rehab guy to do it. I hate this. I'm going to have to Explain This To Him. and it doesn't help that I find it unbelievably stupid. I don't know what the hell i'm going to do if that doesn't work. AUGH.

(THIS is one of the things that makes us annoying. residue from the old British colony days. Douglas Adams always said that most ex-colonial governments are drowning in paperwork because it's meant to stuff you up until they get word back from the mother country. I can believe this.)

in further news i'm going to sell the child because he's been home from school an hour and he's WHINING CONSTANTLY.

so, the short version of the post.
canada = good donuts, bad paperwork
uncle bill/microsoft (otherwise known as the Great Leader) = good because he pays for Leah's wheelchair and all of her meds (believe me, you don't want to see me off my meds)
child = living on borrowed time, whining, destroyed another one of my pens, cannot leave him alone for ten minutes when i am making the snack he whined for incessantly and he's about to go to his goddamn room.
me = pretty good although pain is about a 4-6; bought lavender heatwrap bag in lieu of neck/shoulder wrap/heating pad.