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Friday, December 23, 2005

Even though I have what most people would call a ďdesk job,Ē I donít sit at my desk all day. When Iím working, Iím up and down every few seconds. And thatís probably for the best, since I donít go out of my way to get a lot of exercise. But as lazy as I sometimes feel, Iím not a sitter. Usually.

Tonight I was a sitter. I sat in the same position in the recliner for four straight hours, from about 5 pm until about 9 pm. About 5:00 this afternoon, I hit some kind of wall. My legs suddenly felt as if they were blocked in cement, and my stomach felt as if it had a wad of stale, flavorless chewing gum lodged somewhere inside. And I was freezing, which is odd since the outside temperature never got below 60ļF today. But the chill in my back and legs made me want to do nothing more than bundle up and not move. So I sat.

I didnít intend to sit that long, but I couldnít convince myself to get up out of the chair. Besides, I had XM15 The Loft playing, and I find the music that satellite channel plays to be at once soothing and intriguing. Itís become my favorite station, but Iíve never just sat and listened to it for four hours at a stretch. Not until tonight.

Of course I know what the problem is. I havenít had anything close to a good nightís sleep in so long that my body is rebelling. Itís shutting down. Itís pushing me into a wall so that I have no choice but to sit for a long time, hunched under my afghan, dozing occasionally. That was my evening. I wasnít hungry enough to eat anything, and I had a glass of water that I made last that long.




23 December 2005

Looming darkness.



I canít be sick, of course. And Iím not sick, just tired. By tomorrow, when we gather for the first of our Christmas celebrations (we canít all be together all day Sunday, so we have to compromise), Iíll be fine. I have to be fine. I have to feel a whole lot better than I did today.




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I hesitate to complain, since I know people who live their lives, every day all year long, in constant pain. And Iím not really complaining, just reporting the state of the imopm. (Sorry. Drifted off again.)

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One year ago: Rounds
"It must be that jolly seasonal spirit burgeoning in my heart. Or maybe Iím just too tired to give a flying sugar plum."


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We donít have to find a permanent bliss,
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