Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Petaluma, home of the fighting Lagunitas Brewers

I'm not sure how I did it, but I knew it would get worse. Yesterday, intermittently, I felt this very sharp pain beneath my shoulder on my abdomen almost on my back, along the right latissimus dorsi. It didn't stop me from riding my bike to Petaluma in the evening, nor from going to the gym afterwards. 

Then when I awoke this morning, something announced itself as being very wrong before I had even made my way out of bed. The arm had limited mobility and the shoulder ball and joint socket was very sore. My glenohumeral was failing me, as if the entire cavity had been agitated from within. I took aspirin, Alleve, probably a few Xanax, who knows. I have one prescription bottle that operates on the Secret Santa meets the potluck principle. I only put things in there that I know will help me, though the dosages can be wildly unpredictable. Pill size does not equate to the philter's effects. 

And the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all.

Nothing has helped. I'm typing this out now with only my left hand, hunting and pecking as always, though with extended caesural pauses between each key strike. Each word a temporary victory, each sentence wrought from a paragraph's time. It's like a nightmare in which you are being chased by the future, and it's gaining on you, and growing.

I want to get away. Cato and I are considering doing some damage this weekend, though he is reluctant to tent camp, having just returned from Burning Man with all of the other filthy heathens. I don't mind sleeping in a tent, at all, though I understand how much one longs for their own bed, or the bed of another, after returning from the desert. Any bed, some space that is cool, dark, and soft. 

I have been sneaking onto camera sites and looking at expensive lenses. It is the most perverse impulse that I can muster right now. I've been doing the same with bike sites. They seem to be corollary interests, but I want to keep them separate. I did buy a bike rack for my car, gets here on Friday. 

I would say that "I need a girlfriend," but that is silly. I am happy having time and space to myself. Oh no... as I was typing that last sentence the below song came on as YouTube was trying to sell my attention to somebody. 

When the truth is found to be lies
And all the joy within you dies
Don't you want somebody to love?
Don't you need somebody to love?
Wouldn't you love somebody to love?
You better find somebody to love...

Far out, man. The universe does not only speak to crusty burners stumbling back in from the desert like a plague, pockets filled with locusts, murmuring about the goodness of gratitude. The stars send the radical self-refrainers the occasional twinkle, too. 

Next up, Joplin's Piece of my Heart. What am I expected to do, just take another little piece of her heart?