March 28th, 2007

comics invisibles king mob

now that i've lost everything to you you say you want to start something new

So I did my physical therapy and twenty minutes of yoga last night, and while I was still sore when I went to bed...

This morning I woke up something like 90% pain free for the first time in years. I mean, my shoulder hurts, but my shoulder always hurts. And it hurts less. And my neck is a little stiff and sore, but it's just stiff and sore.

I actually lay there for a while after the alarm went off, just not hurting.

And I just got back from the gym (core, upper body, fifteen minutes with the heavy bag and only a mile on the ski machine, because I was pooped from the kicking things and my sneakers aren't broken in yet) and I still don't hurt much. (Say, baseline three, and I'm usually around a five or six.)

I think I'm going to fold the laundry that has been drying on all my furniture (the one dryer is on the blink, and the other one is only sort of working) and then I am going to go take Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz and Sharon Begley into the tub. (I'm still reading about neuroplasticity, and I'm not done yet: there's some more Ramachandran and a probably annoying Restak to get through too.)

I'm really enjoying The Mind & The Brain, though. mekkavandexter, you and Dex should read this. It's neurology, neuropsychology, and Buddhism. (I am still working on this epiphany about how Zen and modern neurological theory are actually two ways of looking at the same set of phenomena, and you know, I am apparently not the only one to twig to this.)

Then, maybe I will do my math and music homework and my PT, and then walk to the post office (that'll be another four miles, so I will suck less on the cardio front today) and mail this stuff. And then come home and clean the kitchen. I mean, really clean the kitchen.

Oh right, and eat something somewhere in there.

...that should kill most of the day, don't you think?


Not hurting.

I had forgotten how nice this is.
writing literature vonnegut

blackbird has spoken like the first bird

P.S.: Go read jimvanpelt's essay on how reading slush taught him to be a better writer. Perversely, I just handed in a column on this very thing to Subterranean for the next issue.

Now everybody will think I cribbed.

Also, he quotes Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays" and T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufock," so you know his taste is good.
bear by san

i can no longer shop happily

Cat: Monkey? Monkey! Where areeeeee you?
Monkey: I'm in the bathroom.
Cat: Monkey? I'm in the bathroom. I don't see you. Ooo. Echoes!
Monkey: That's because I am in the tub.
Cat: *face appears catiously over the edge of the tub*
Monkey: *moves book aside*
Cat: !
Monkey: ?
Cat: !!!!You're under water!!!!
Monkey: We call it a bath. I do it several times a week.
Cat: But you're UNDER WATER.
Monkey: And I was reading a book.
Cat: Doesn't that hurt?
Monkey: No.
Cat: Aren't you drowning?
Monkey: No.
Cat: Monkey? Are you dead?
Monkey: No.
Cat: But you could slide under and scrabble at the sides and not be able to get out and drown! horribly!
Monkey: Unlikely.
Cat: *steps on monkey's face*
Monkey: Glub.
Cat: See? I told you so.

355.4 miles to Rivendell. All right, math and music. And then the fun that is cleaning the kitchen, because Tom Bombadil is unlikely to do my dishes.