(no subject)
Popping a couple of pain-relieving pills designed for sleep, I crawled into bed with a book. After a few pages into a chapter of "Fear And Loathing On The Campaign Trail '72," muscles and tendons begin to unravel their grip, and despite Hunter S. Thompson's venomous humor, I began to finally, finally relax...
Between working out, lifting weights, and a marathon house-cleaning session, I didn't give myself any "me time," or time to really rest. Hell, I didn't take a shower or brush my teeth when I woke up, yesterday. But, I did take several monstrously uncomfortable shits through out the day. My intestines snaked around my intestines, constricting like a couple of pythons trying to eat each other. Maybe it was the protein shakes, maybe it was some stomach bug, or maybe its the fact I haven't been eating well since Janine went to Alaska. Slightly feverish, feeling constrained by time, I worked through it, and gave the house a good scrub down.
And I seemed to have paid for it. Rolling out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in about thirty years. My knees cracked, and my elbows popped. My spine seems to have calcified into petrification overnight. Today, my body aches, and I'm afraid I might have tweaked my left pectoral and shoulder--a rotator cup? And the cramp on the left side of my core hints that I might have strained something.
Enough with the whining. Janine comes home tonight. I've got the whole day to myself, a book to read, and a Jeep full of gas. Where to go? What to do? Chemicals. I need chemicals. Caffeine! Protein! Carbohydrates! And more caffeine! A coffee and bagel cafe--that's what I need. And a shooting range. A shooting range that serves great espresso and traditional bagels with sour cream, onion, capers, tomato and lox. With pretty waitresses with guns on their hips. And a bar. With bartenders that have literature, sociology, history degrees, and are able to recite whole passages of Shelley, Byron, and Keats to me when they serve me my Bloody Mary's. And this coffee/bagel shop/shooting range/bar should have a kick-ass, well-rounded house band that can put on scenes from Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams in between sets. No time to waste! Shit, shower, brush my teeth, and I'm off to find this place!
Ammo. Dammit, I need ammo. Hopefully, I'll be able to grab a box of .45's with that double espresso.
Between working out, lifting weights, and a marathon house-cleaning session, I didn't give myself any "me time," or time to really rest. Hell, I didn't take a shower or brush my teeth when I woke up, yesterday. But, I did take several monstrously uncomfortable shits through out the day. My intestines snaked around my intestines, constricting like a couple of pythons trying to eat each other. Maybe it was the protein shakes, maybe it was some stomach bug, or maybe its the fact I haven't been eating well since Janine went to Alaska. Slightly feverish, feeling constrained by time, I worked through it, and gave the house a good scrub down.
And I seemed to have paid for it. Rolling out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in about thirty years. My knees cracked, and my elbows popped. My spine seems to have calcified into petrification overnight. Today, my body aches, and I'm afraid I might have tweaked my left pectoral and shoulder--a rotator cup? And the cramp on the left side of my core hints that I might have strained something.
Enough with the whining. Janine comes home tonight. I've got the whole day to myself, a book to read, and a Jeep full of gas. Where to go? What to do? Chemicals. I need chemicals. Caffeine! Protein! Carbohydrates! And more caffeine! A coffee and bagel cafe--that's what I need. And a shooting range. A shooting range that serves great espresso and traditional bagels with sour cream, onion, capers, tomato and lox. With pretty waitresses with guns on their hips. And a bar. With bartenders that have literature, sociology, history degrees, and are able to recite whole passages of Shelley, Byron, and Keats to me when they serve me my Bloody Mary's. And this coffee/bagel shop/shooting range/bar should have a kick-ass, well-rounded house band that can put on scenes from Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams in between sets. No time to waste! Shit, shower, brush my teeth, and I'm off to find this place!
Ammo. Dammit, I need ammo. Hopefully, I'll be able to grab a box of .45's with that double espresso.