Devil don't do-si-do.

Well, it looks like I've bottomed out on my weight loss, which is a good thing. Ten pounds? I can get that back easily. Especially considering my normal weight is only plus five. Which is kind of pathetic. Most of the mass I lost was in my arms. What the fuck? It couldn't have been my legs or something? Now I've got these bony arms again. I look like a damn middle school student.

But, I mean, what can you do.

I've been practicing a lot of music these last few days. Practicing and listening. I really want to play clarinet again. And saxophone. My old teacher thinks after I can play again it's going to be amazing. I'm looking forward to it. One of my old friends wants me to play clarinet in his band over the summer. I guess that'll give me a couple months to get back up to speed.

I can practice fingerings until then, I suppose.

I hate being at home all day. I've been walking around outside more. Pushing further. I want to leave, though. Go to a park. Go camping. Go mountain biking. Go running. Maybe I'll do it. Go trail running or something. It's just too damn nice outside to stay inside.

As I turned the corner to walk up the stairs last night I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the wall. And, for a brief moment, there was the ghost of a profile I used to know. Maybe I will survive this thing after all.

Comments

Carolynn said…

Bahaha fingering.

December 28, 2009 at 5:52 PM

Past the butterfly wall.

Spontaneous pneumothorax is a collection of air or gas in the space between the lungs and the chest that "collapses" the lung and prevents it from inflating completely. Spontaneous means there is no traumatic injury to the chest or lung. There are two types of spontaneous pneumothorax: primary and secondary. Primary spontaneous pneumothorax occurs in people without lung disease. It occurs most often in tall, thin, young people. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket but I can't answer it. We are in the middle of rehearsal. It is not an uncommon event. We continue to play. The strap of my saxophone cuts into my neck. The nylon is rough against my skin. I look out of place. Everyone else is dressed casually; shorts, shirts, shoes optional. There I stand, a button down shirt and slacks. I'm entitled to dress up a little. It's my birthday. My phone vibrates again. I always used to roll my eyes whenever I saw those scenes in movies. The phone call. The bad news....

Pseudo-science (like psych).

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I'm a geologist, not an alcoholic.

I thought I had seen people drink before. Hell, I thought that I had drank before. But, clearly, I thought wrong on both of those counts. I cannot, for the life of me, think of a reason to justify all of the drinking that transpired down there last week. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it just was. Field work just makes a man thirsty. Taking this class was easily one of the best things I've ever done. We worked hard every day out in the field. Wake up at 7, leave the beach house by 8, hit the water by 9. My first three field days were in service on the R/V Acadiana , a 58 foot vessel that towed the CHIRP fish , the air gun, and the streamer to measure all the seismic data--looking at the subsurface of the seafloor we drove over. My second ship was the R/V Itasca using the multibeam , sidescan , and grab sampler --getting seafloor surface bathymetry. They were long, exhausting days and we returned to the docks around 6 or 7 every evening. And then, drinking. So much ...

everything is fine

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