Therapy

Man, I don't know how I did that with an iPhone.  I guess you need to be careful when "shooting" pictures.  I had no idea.  

Kaboom!

I went to therapy for my knee yesterday.  Boy.  My legs have gone to pot.  Hamstrings?  Hips?  She had me doing very simple stretches yesterday, and I looked like an old man.  When I was going to yoga two or three times a week, what I was doing yesterday would have been easy.  It's been a while since I got mangled, though, and I guess I haven't really worked on that much since.  So I have a bunch of simple stretches to do at home every day and will be in therapy twice a week.  

The wild thing was the massage.  

"What?" 

Yea.  Went right up my gym shorts and grabbed my boy.  Shocked the hell out of me, but I said "O.K."  A handful of massage cream and boom!

Just kidding.  No, she dug into the back of my knee and my eyes popped with pain.  It mattered little to her, it seemed as she dug in harder.  I thought I would either shit my pants or pass out.  She followed my hamstring from behind my knee around to the front of my calf.  I had no idea the hamstring attached in the front.  The entire journey, though, as she pressed and kneaded, was excruciating.  I was certain she was doing real damage.  

Guess what?  I was wrong.  My knee is much better today.  Much.  Good god, I want to go back right away, but my next appointment is in a week.  This was just a preliminary meeting where she took measurements, etc.  She said we'd be working with bands and machines in the coming weeks.  My hips, she said, need a lot of work, too.  She asked me what kind of exercises I did in the gym.  She doesn't want me to do most of them anymore.  

I told her that leg presses caused me no pain at all,  

"You are probably not using the muscles you think you are, though.  You are probably compensating.  How much weight are you using?"

"Twelve plates."

Her eyes popped.  

"Forty-five pound plates?"

"Yes, but it doesn't bother my knee and I'm doing eight reps."

"No. . . don't do that anymore."

She doesn't want me to use the stair stepper either.  

"Do more biking."

I hate biking.  But I think I'll listen to her.  Mostly.  I want to see what happens in the next month.  

I tried to go to my mother's house in the afternoon, but traffic was not moving.  I sat in the same spot on the road for twenty minutes before I decided to turn around and go home.  

I got calls from the factory.  Some needed advice on replacing my replacement.  I am deeper in the loop than most people who still work there.  I take it as a testament to my abilities.  I'll take anything that makes me feel good right now.  

As I say, not so very much does.  I've always been a happy melancholic boy.  I am realizing more and more how lucky a hillbilly I have been.  Each night, though, I am beginning to feel the luck has run out.  My mind goes its own way now, down the dark alleyways into blind, rotten courtyards.  I need more than physical therapy, I think.  But I may just have something.  I've not felt right for days now.  I fell asleep on the couch at eight and woke up and went to bed at nine.  Woke up every hour, though.  Not dreaming well.  

I have to change my routine.  I would leave town, but now I have PT twice a week.  I will start doing a little meditating again trying to go more than the few minutes the Times says you need.  Cut out drinking alone.  Back to herbal teas and such.  This is what I think.  Now I'll see what I actually do.  Light beer, maybe.  That's pretty close to water.  

I am taking Tennessee to pick up a car at nine.  That's an early start to the day for me anymore.  Sloth has become a problem, I think.  

I have quit watching the opinion news shows since cancelling cable, but I still read it, and I have one thing to say. 

"LOCK HIM UP!"

They won't, though.  Nope.  We're in for a real shit show.  All we can do is protest, then duck and cover.  Greed and stupidity will win the day.  There will be lots of arguing around Thanksgiving tables this year, I'll assume.