Slow Hand

Inspirational song: The Wind Cries Mary (Jimi Hendrix)

Wow. I've had better days. I wish I could more easily add sound effects here, to accurately reflect what I'm doing, which amounts to Lamaze breathing and saying, "Nnngggggyyeaahh... (pant pant) dontbarfdontbarfdontbarf..." I love knowing that we just paid twenty bucks for a steak that will most likely end up being violently propelled from my body against gravity. I noticed how pasty white my face is, as I stared in my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, coaching myself not to throw up. I can't tell what's going to happen for sure tonight, but I know it won't involve much activity on my part.

I made concrete plans for that open house I'm going to offer, and I am pleased to report that it won't be until next weekend. I'll worry about it in the next few days. Now is not the time.

The most fortunate part of my day was calling at noon to ask for an appointment for a massage, and finding that my new favorite therapist had a cancellation this afternoon. I needed him so desperately, and he knew exactly how to bring my jacked up spinal muscles back from the edge of disaster. He started very slowly, just barely moving his flat hand along my back. He promised that he could trick my muscles into relaxing that way, and for the most part he was right. I had a lot of damage to repair, so I'm not magically cured, but I am far more flexible and aligned than I was at about 2 o'clock this afternoon. Plus, I learned some things about my new therapist. As a child he once snuck into a concert hall and hid where he could listen to Jimi Hendrix do a sound check, and as a teenager he once jammed with Arlo Guthrie. I told him I already liked him, but that just made his cool points go through the roof. I can't wait to know him better. I think I've only begun to hear about a very fascinating life.