The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. ~
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When I read an AP new article about the results of his first year in office, Argentina’s libertarian President Javier Milei, I wondered whether the mixed successes of his draconian economic and social measures to prevent the Argentine economy from imploding could possibly justify them. The next question in my mind was this: could any other, far less painful, measures have had the same successes in the same short span of time? After he assumed the presidency a year ago, Milei implemented a flurry of austerity measures: cutting energy and transportation subsidies; laying off tens of thousands of government workers; freezing public infrastructure projects; and imposing wage and pension freezes below levels of inflation; among others. Despite those extremely painful measures, he enjoys support of roughly 50% of the population; he told them during his campaign to expect things to get worse before they got better, and it seems now they believe him. I hate to think that a combination of social, economic, and political philosophies that are so utterly contrary to mine could be justified as the only effective “fix” to the economy, but the reality of what is happening there makes me admit it is possible. Yet, still, I wonder whether the goal of a growing, or even stable, economy can justify steamrolling social principles I find so fundamentally moral. The ultimate outcome of Milei’s policies are yet to be seen; I probably won’t reach a conclusion either way until I see it. But I grudgingly understand that my firmly-held positions should be open to some flexibility. Milei told a cheering crowd at the Conservative Political Action Conference, during its traveling appearance in Buenos Aires last week, “Everyone assumed that we were going to fail politically. Today they admit, through gritted teeth, that they are surprised.” God knows I never want to think for a moment, when Trump utters those words (and he will, I feel confidence), that he was right. But when we slam the doors on ideas that find offensive, we put our claims of being open-minded at risk.
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Already, the “pristine” desk in my study displays evidence my innately over-casual nature. Just a few items have been strewn across the desk since I recently decluttered it—but enough to warn me against letting my genetic laziness retake control. All my working life, I wanted a supremely organized, take-charge assistant to take charge of organizing my desk and my office. Since retiring 13 years ago, I realized it was not just my work-life that needed a makeover; I want a personal assistant who has the same skills and personality I wished for in a secretary when I worked. At this point, though, it is not worth worrying about. A periodic decluttering, accompanied by giving myself a stern lecture against allowing my slothful nature to get out of control, will give me the occasional kick in the butt I need. I hope
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This morning, after I showered, I looked in the mirror and saw that my face had the sanguine complexion that mi novia mentioned to me last evening. My normally pasty-white face was ruddy red, as if I had been drinking heavily during a lengthy, several-days-long, alcohol bender (I doubt I ever did, even as a wild young man). Given that I had both radiation and chemotherapy yesterday, my assumption is that one or the other or both might be the cause; I think yesterday’s chemo concoction may have been somewhat different from those infused into my body recently. Speaking of yesterday’s infusion: the nurse who plunged the needle into my infusion port apologized several times for the obvious pain I felt each time she tried to properly place the needle. It was the first time it had hurt so much; it was tolerable, of course, but the pain was enough for me to wince and express my displeasure with my “allergy” to pain. The nurse said the pain was due to the build-up of scar tissue at the site, which is the place they stab me ever time they draw blood or administer cancer-killing poisons, drugs, and miscellaneous other helpful liquids. Anyway, my red face remains (I assume—though I’m not looking in a mirror). I will try to find out what may be causing it; and if it’s an inappropriate reaction to something the nurses did or did not do, what to do to correct it.
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I’m finishing my second shot of espresso, after having knocked the first one down quickly and gone through a serving of Ensure and a bottle of Propel. Still, no hunger; not even a willing interest in food. Yesterday, having a discussion with the oncology nurse in advance of the infusion treatments, she chided me for having lost another 5 pounds since my last treatment, 3 weeks ago. She told me to focus on food…especially meat with lots of protein…or else. So, we went to Home Plate for a late (3pm+) lunch, where I ordered liver & onions, a food I have always enjoyed but rarely eat. It was okay. But I prefer mine sliced thicker, without gravy, and cooked medium-rare. The texture of the liver gets grainy when it is cooked too long. I did not need to get into such detail about my late lunch, except that, sometime in the future, I may need to know about yesterday’s menu and I will find it on this post. If you like, you can find it here, too.
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The dryer sounded a minute ago, alerting me that the load of black long-johns should be dry and wearable. I do not feel quite so uncomfortable as I did, initially, wearing only a pair of underpants and a sweatshirt to my radiation treatments. Mi novia claims no one will give second thoughts to an old man wearing what amounts to black leotards wandering through a cancer center (and into restaurants, etc.). I hope she’s right, but what “they” think of me shrinks in importance with each passing venture into public places. Nudity, I tell you, has enormous appeal and flexibility—you can wear it anywhere. Who needs leotards when bare skin is available?
