Have been going to my physiotherapist for nearly a year now, and today was thinking how the process seems like a useful metaphor for so many other things.
It's about slow developments over time, not a quick fix.
You improve a bit, then there's a bit of a plateau.
And the occasional regression.
Sometimes you just know that something is going to
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...I was not terribly pleased to have my therapist inform me this morning that my best bet for surviving the eleven-hour flight to London that I'm taking next month was to get up at least seven times, during which time I should walk around and do this exercise involving my back and a tennis ball. The problem with this is that it's an overnight flight which takes off at 9:30 PM, so I will have to stay up all night.
I am going to do it, though, or at least make a valiant effort.
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The London part of the trip is to officially publicize the British publication of All the Fishes Come Home to Roost, but I'm taking advantage of the opportunity to travel for fun, since I've never been to Europe (outside of an airport for more than six hours) before.
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