...Yet. A) Because I'm self-employed, so damnit, I should get a say in this. Only today, I had an appointment (which I will tell you about in a minute) so I had to get up at stupid o'clock.
As anyone who knows me can attest, any trip out of the house for any occasion will be carefully planned around the location of the most convenient (and hopefully closest) Tim Horton's. It just will, and if you want to be a part of my life, you accept the fact.
Of course, buying a vat of the elixir of life can only lead one place, sooner or later. Now public restrooms have never been my thing, even on a nice, "cute-dress-and-a-hoodie" day. On a "winter-coat-scarf-touque-mitts-and-tights" day? This is proof in some other life I had a wicked streak. There is no other way to explain why I was born into a life lived out mostly in this northern realm where layers and bulk clothing are essential.
Anyway, leave the house I did. And I got my precious Tim's and my dreaded twenty-minute bathroom break, so I could go to the aforementioned appointment, which was with the audiologist. (And to remind us all that everything does balance out, not only does this far northern realm freeze my ever-loving ass off, it also pays for me to go see the ear doctor free of charge. Silver lining and all that).
So. The charming young audiologist did all his fancy stuff with me in the sound-proof room that looks like a giant refrigerator, and the upshot of it all is that he confirmed what I have long suspected. Those low, male voice/vowel sounds are, in fact, mildly outside my hearing range.
What does this mean for my job? Nothing. The diagnosis doesn't actually change anything except that now I know I have not been making this shit up all these years. I really can't hear some things. I'm not going deaf or anything. I'm probably not even in need of a hearing aid. To paraphrase the doc, it's mild and has probably been this way for a long time. (He's right on that score. I know it's been this way a long time, like years long, if not always)
So if we're in a noisy place and you say something to me, especially if you're a guy or have a low-register voice, and I look blankly at you like I have no idea what you're talking about, it's not you. It's me. If I seem to be squinting at your mouth as you speak, you probably don't have anything between your teeth, I'm just trying to make out what's going on. Ultimately, though, it boils down to "now I know".
And getting out of the house allowed me to do a bit of scouting. You see, I worked hard this last little while, and because I have a fair and generous employer, it netted me that elusive thing called a bonus. Remember these?
Well. Hard work does win out in the end, because when that bonus hits the bank, these will hit my private boot shelf. Or something very like them, as I might opt to be practical (wonder of wonders) and buy an actual lined pair of boots if I can find one suitably stylish. It is winter in the close-enough-to-not-matter far north, after all.
And I guess there never was a B) Self employed seems like all the reason I need not to have to get out of bed until I feel like it most days, I guess.