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So, where do you get a reasonably-nice cane/walking-stick in Perth? Preferably within easy reach of Subiaco, because, hey, walking is kind of an issue for me.
I've been vaguely considering it because of the Hurty Knee That Will Not Stop, and now I've also gone and sprained my ankle. And I need at least some mobility or my life will fall apart.
The thing is that joint injuries, for me, can take quite some time to heal. I think it's because of my hypermobility. (I'm not sure where yesterday's incident falls on the continuum of "hypermobility means I sprain things worse" to "but means I just sprain things instead of breaking them". It was a fairly nasty sprain-occurrence.) And I'm kind of done. I want a way to use one of my two remaining functional limbs to take some of the strain off this one.
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This evening: my lesson against making assumptions about people, in a way.
The thing is... well. If no other background element matters, take it as read that I'm really sensitive to smells. Accordingly, I tend to keep my distance from people who smell bad, whether they smell dirty or smokery or whatever.
And so we begin our tale at the point where I am getting on to a train at Guildford station.
I fumbled the things I was carrying - walking stick, backpack, tiny laptop, because I was trying to hurry and my meds have worn off and I just was all fumbly, in general, and two people from inside the carriage came to help me. A tall white woman, and a tiny Aboriginal man. Very nice of both of them, but, as I sat down - across the aisle from the Aboriginal man - I became aware that he smelled. Of stale sweat an unwashedness, and his jeans were dirty. He had a couple of shopping bags containing grocery stuff and a plain, undecorated didgeridoo with him, so I didn't think he was homeless, just unwashed.
So I wished I was further away from him, but it was just too hard to move.
I listened to my music, aware that he and the white woman were chatting - they appeared to have mutual acquaintances.
As the woman got off the train, she casually mentioned that someone - a seventeen-year-old girl - had been hit by a 4WD (SUV) and killed.
The man made shocked sounds, and for the next couple of minutes, kept exclaiming: "Fuck!"
I packed up my stuff and moved over to him. Asked if he was okay, if he wanted to talk about it...
He said he was strong, he always had been, and you don't show your feelings in public. Only let it out when you're alone. When there's no-one to see.
But the words wouldn't stay back, it seemed, and he told me. Not long ago he lost his sister. ("She was my sister," he kept repeating.) The girl who was killed was his other sister's daughter. She died three weeks ago, and he didn't know until a woman on a train told him. All his family is far away, and, it seems, they don't worry about him.
A couple of days ago he had a knife and was going to slit his wrists. A security guard stopped him, took the knife away.
I'm not sure I would have been okay to leave him, except he told me he was on his way to see his brother - well, not really his brother, but like a brother, they've known each other since they were four years old, and he goes to see his brother when he's stressed. So I think, I hope, he'll be okay, for the time being.
But... I suspect, now, it's not that he's dirty because he's an Unhygienic Person, which... I judge people for having poor hygiene standards. I suspect his hygiene may have fallen behind because he's serously depressed.
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