7-23 & 7-24

7/23

When I was at the cabin on Thursday, hurrying to get everything put away before darkness fell, I accidentally ran into the stair railing (as opposed to the many times I've run into them on purpose).  It hurt, and I'm sure I said words even British people consider profanity, but then forgot about it.  But today, I got out of the shower, and was kind of shocked to see an ugly purple bruise on my side.  Not being a religious person, I didn't interpret it as stigmata or anything, but remembered the mishap on Thursday.

Here's a picture.  That'll teach you to read my blog.

I don't have much time at the library today, which is fine.  I did great yesterday (unless you're one of those writers who posts on Facebook that they've written three novels this year . . . and it's April!), and Jeff said today's the last day we'll have to hang out before he flies home (a week late).  I'll ask him if we can watch a "Supernatural" episode, or if he just wants to continue with "Lower Decks."

Even so, he was out of town until afternoon, so I still got some writing done.  Compared to yesterday, it was little, and I didn't move the narrative even a millimeter toward the end.  Okay, maybe a millimeter.

Writing or Exercise: Writing

7/24

You know, I try not to belittle other people's beliefs, especially their inane religious ones, because, after all, I once believed that Chewbacca was real, and that if you died whilst praying your soul would automatically go to Heaven.*  But I used to report on these asinine spam emails I would get every week (my account has been locked, my computer has 23 viruses, Africans have the secret for rock-hard wangs, a company wants me to come in for an interview, I am owed compensation for Camp Lejeune, this is my final notice to pick up my Amazon box, my hair will grow back with this one simple hack, and the word "inconnu" means an unknown person or thing), and I grew tired of that quickly (you see, once you notice a specific email, you'll notice it ten more times in the coming days).

But dude, today's is NASA rapture warning.  Apparently, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration has been monitoring the skies, and like Santa Claus on the 24th of December, there's a Jesus-shaped blob on the radar as the Messiah flies from east to west, scooping good little Gentile boys and girls into the air, while the rest of us remain to be burned like dead stalks after the harvest.  But hey, thanks to this bullshit email . . . we've at least been warned.

I did the stairs at the park again today.  It's a bit hot to be doing it, but I like the sensation of sweat running down my face, I guess.  While I was at the top of the stairs, gasping for breath and begging for a quick death, I saw a bicyclist racing along the sidewalk down below, missing the turn, and biffing it (the technical term) onto the ground.  I watched her writhe for a moment (half-under and half-free of her bike) with an odd detachment, as though I was watching video footage from a foreign land.  Eventually, her bicycling companions extracted her from under the fallen bike, and helped her hobble back toward the parking lot.  I arched an eyebrow, Spock-like, and pondered the existence of these strange beings called humans.

Hmm.

Writing or Exercise: Exercise

*My dad explained this to me when I was a child, as for why Hamlet didn't murder Claudius when he had the opportunity.