I dragged myself out of the morass this morning and reminded myself "what it's all about." And that if we let the pressures of the season or the sagging economy or even the weather get us down, "the terrorists win." And so, because it's Christmas Eve, and the sky is filled with tiny reindeer, and the lights are twinkling brightly, I forced myself to be cheerful. Yes, it's possible.
It's not easy, though. I went to bed last night with an ache in my left shoulder that felt like a muscle tear (or what I imagine a muscle tear would feel like). It woke me up every time I rolled over, which I do almost constantly except for last night, when fear of possible pain kept me locked in the least uncomfortable position I could find. I wasn't quite as rested this morning as I'd like to have been, but the ache gradually eased as the day dragged on.
I can still feel it, but with normal motion it's no worse than the feeling you get after a flu shot (if you get your flu shots from a demented carpenter with a nail gun). It doesn't keep me from doing anything except extending my elbow behind my back in a most unnatural way. That really hurts, but I haven't found any particular reason to do it except to see if it still hurts. Which it does.
David took a break from last-minute shopping to drop by this morning and use my fax machine. I was opening the mail at the time, and we shared a laugh over the Boss's credit card bill, which included almost five hundred dollars in charges to BMG Music Service. This seemed a lot for someone who's never demonstrated any interest in music. If it's for his four grown children, I hope it's in the form of gift certificates. I can't imagine listening to anything he might have picked out himself.