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Do you suppose I should be concerned that I drifted off to sleep while watching TV and when I got up, I had cobwebs all over my face? I mean it couldn’t possibly have been more than like 10 minutes or so.

It is still June 19, 1998 isn’t it?

Holy Crap! My Bowflex just totally kicked my big ol’ cotton soft ass. I’d go and pour myself a nice tall glass of water if I thought there was a chance in hell I could actually lift it.

*pant* *pant* *pant*

Oh …. I feel myself getting pulled into a tunnel. The light looks so peaceful. I’m coming light. I’m coming.

Seriously. I have to either work out a lot more or a lot less. Right now, I’m leaning towards less.

Whew!

I’m experimenting with cutting caffeine out of my diet. The headaches are manageable enough, but the lack of focus is a bitch. You know all those kids being diagnosed with ADD? Yeah, well instead of getting them all hopped up on Ritalin, just give them a diet coke.

So I woke up Sunday feeling completely gross after a week of the worst diet known to man or beast (to say nothing of a few months of winter’s dark, dark apathy). I made a point to spend a few minutes lifting heavy things. Of course, I expected to be weak after such a long period of neglect, and true to expectations, I found myself a sore and sad little slip of a thing who quit much too early to have done much good.

Monday found me hurting a little, but it was a good kind of hurt, so I was happy with it. Tuesday, I was going to lift again, but I was still kind of feeling it, and I wanted to give my muscles a chance to recover a bit more. Fortunately though, when I got out of work, the sun was still hanging beautifully bright and low in the sky. It was still day (more or less) (yea!). This called for a nice long walk.

Here’s the thing though, once I started moving vigorously, the soreness in my chest magically transformed into a heart attack. I kept telling my inner hypochondriac that what I was feeling was just remaining soreness from lifting, and my inner hypochondriac resolutely refused to even consider that possibility. It was a heart attack pure and simple.

So there I was, determined not to stop even though I knew on some deep inner level that I was walking through death’s very door. What could I do? I started trying to walk in such a way that I wasn’t stretching or tweaking my chest muscles. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried that, but let me just say for the record that it is almost exactly impossible. I’m sure it makes you look pretty silly too although frankly that was the least of my concerns what with breathing my last breath and all.

At one point, I heard a siren going past, and my fevered brain filled in the gaps with a fantasy in which I was being rushed to the hospital, and my current state of awareness was just a fantasy as my oxygen starved brain tried to relive the circumstances that brought me to my unfortunate end.

I managed to finish off my walk. Now if I could just find some way to do the same with that part of my mind that invents diseases and crap like that. I bet an ice pick would do it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that, that particular cure might be a little worse than the disease. Maybe pills.

I have a sense that I’ve been getting too self-deprecating recently. My confidence in myself has often been confused with arrogance. I understate my abilities and qualities for humorous effect, and to keep my ego from blossoming out of control. Uncertainty is less appealing to me than excessive confidence though. I need to dial that crutch back a bit.

When I was younger, I thought it was self-defecating. I still prefer that as a phrase. It so perfectly describes what is happening. I should start a movement or something (I didn’t intended that to be a pun, but recognizing it as such, it tickles me more than it should).

1759 - Mt. Vesuvius errupted and killed many
1859 - Darwin published “On the Origin of Species”
1874 - Joseph F Glidden patented barbed wire
1963 - Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald
2003 - I ate a dry slice of carrot cake*

On This Day

* Purchased at a soul eating Super Walmart that rests in the midst of the desolate sprawl that is suburban Omaha “Oh My God It’s Cold” Nebraska, just a few miles and a few and 30 years from the point of my first breath.

OK, so after 3 months of loafing, you finally got that Bowflex machine out of mothballs. Good for you. But seriously, 1 1/2 puny little sets with resistance that you could tell almost instantly wasn’t enough? What the hell is wrong with you, you tiny little puddle of nothingness?

I know; the work out lasted 25 minutes, your heart rate is up, your face is red (and disturbingly numb), and you did feel a little light-headed for a while there. That does qualify as a workout. Still, don’t be a little punk. If you’re going to do it, then do it. Show some heart. Show some intensity for christ’s sake. And, don’t quit. I want at least 3 solid months out of you. I want you back to pulling on Wednesday.

Alright, now go get yourself a protein shake, and relax and enjoy the free Radiohead concert on Direct TV.

My dumb body woke me up this morning at around 5 AM for no other reason than simple spite. Well, OK, I did get to bed a bit earlier than normal last night due to the fact that staying out really, incredibly, just stupidly late on both Friday and Saturday knocked my internal clock deep into the twilight zone. Still, 5 o’clock? In the blessed AM?

And, do you suppose that’s evidence that my body has now rested all that it would like to rest? Do you think I’m caught up and bright eyed and bushy tailed. Nope (well, except for the tail part or maybe just the bushy part). I feel like I’m trying to think through about 13 gallons of molasses this morning. Stupid body.

I was a little iffy about blogging this, but I figured what the hell. It’s sort of funny, and if Andre can write about accidentally drinking his own semen I should at least be able to share my ongoing battle with hair.

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I went for my first professional massage today. I’m not sure how I feel about the experience. I didn’t hate it or anything, but I was expecting to have one of those why did I wait so long kinds of experiences. I didn’t get that though.

To begin with, there was just an awful lot of ass-play. It was a one hour, full-body massage, and for something like 20 minutes of that time, her hands were all over my ass. Don’t get me wrong. If some woman wants to fondle my butt, I’m generally not going to complain too much. But, I’d really rather it was a friend or some random stranger or anybody really except somebody I’m paying because the money just makes the whole thing feel weird somehow.

Plus, that’s not really where I carry most of my stress, so I’m not sure I really see the point. As in most situations like this, I’m just going to pretend that it was because she found me irresistible and figured professionalism be damned. If you’ve been for your own massage/grope session, and that’s really the way those things go every time I’ll thank you to not disillusion me.

Now, the whole nudity thing really wasn’t that big a deal to me. I hate changing in men’s locker rooms or showering or really just standing there at the urinal even. But again, if some random women wants me to strip down my attitude is pretty much yeah, OK — whatever.

But, the pressure points (she was an acupressurist as well) creeped me out to no end. I studied martial arts for a few years when I was a kid, so when somebody starts seeking out my pressure points, particularly the ones around my throat, my body views it as an attack and wants to defend against it. Fortunately, I can generally get my head in the way of my body, but it requires an awful lot of effort to not reverse out out it.

Also, once she started flapping my arms around and sticking her fingers in my ears it was all I could do to keep from laughing uncontrollably. I’d like to just lay there and relax with a whatever kind of attitude, but really at some point you start wondering if you should ask where Allen Funt is because it’s really just getting past the point of absurdity.

Afterwards, I did feel kind of relaxed for a few minutes. It didn’t take long though before the old stresses and pains (mostly pains) started seeping back into my lower back and shoulders. I kind of live with this low-grade pain in the back of my head all the time. It just becomes a part of you, but take it away, and then when it comes back you’re like 1000 times more aware of it. It’s actually sort of a drag.

Plus, she coated me with these massage oils, and I’m leaving a sticky, smelly trail of slime on everything I’m touching. It’s like I’m a giant snail or something. A giant, Nancy-boy smelling, sticky, slimy snail. I think I need a shower or a squeegee.