2:29 AM.

I have been awake about 50 minutes. I made a pot of Gevalia Decaffeinated. I drank a cup so far.

I want to cry, sometimes just because of the brokenness of the world.

That’s all for now.

I had a session today. Afterwards I noticed different muscles were hurting. Then I realized that was a function of the body being adjusted to take the pressure off where the nerve is being pressed. In other words, I’m getting better.

I slept some this afternoon. I’m watching and listening to the Russian ladies talk. I figured out how to type in words using the Cyrillic alphabet. I’ve been watching enough shows with ordinary Russians going about their business that I think of them as my neighbors now. They are truly beautiful souls.

I have an ice pack on my shoulder. I took a hot shower, shaved, put on clean clothes. Pizza and lasagna leftovers are heating in the oven. I should have a better attitude than I do.

I stayed home from Mass because sitting without being able to move around gets really painful. I also watched the Russian Orthodox Easter Vigil last night, from Moscow, which should be the equivalent of four Catholic Masses, if measured on a basis of reverence and intensity.

When J gets home we shall have the leftovers. Then I shall go to bed

It is 3:34 AM. I am watching a Popeye cartoon on YouTube. I just haven’t changed the channel yet. I’m actually tired, so I might go back to bed.

The wave of sad is hitting me. I’m comparing my life to other people’s lives, which is a guarantee for instant misery. The irony, of course, is that I’m blessed to have the life that I have with love, security, and freedom.

I do wish the physical pain weren’t so omnipresent.

OK. Going to bed.

This little episode has been the subtlest challenge I have had to deal with since my fusion. The fusion was pretty straightforward with a rigorous set of guidelines around recovery. This pinched nerve is deceptive. I think I can do stuff, only to find myself in pain afterwards.

So I have laid off swimming. I can move the muscles fine, but the pain the next day isn’t good. Pain is like your body’s “CHECK ENGINE” light. It is wise to pay attention to it.

So I took it easy yesterday. I’m frustrated because I want to do more.

It is 3:41 AM (Eastern time North America). Pain woke me up around 2:20. I’ve felt worse, but I am hurting right now. I watched the end of a fine film noir film from 1950, Night And The City.

Right now I’m listening to some Russian Orthodox znamenny chant, but I can’t get into it. I just fixed J some sliced fruit and an avocado for her lunch.

I suppose I will go back to sleep, but not now. I switched over to watch plus-size Brazilian women modelling intimate apparel, (underwear). Evidently the Brazilians don’t mind a little cellulite. Now I’m watching Marina Morlok show the melting snow outside her apartment as she chatters away in Russia. Now her hairless cat is on camera.

The Internet has made us all vulnerable, not in the sense of being subject to attack, but showing us all as human with our softness, frailties, and shared humanity.

Marina is my virtual friend, and I understand practically nothing of what she says. I hear only the deep, rolling cascade of Slavic verbiage. But it is a woman’s voice I hear, a woman’s face I see, as I recall again, my very first memories. From such a voice and such a face I learned to order the world.

If you’ve been following this blog lately, you are aware of my neck/shoulder issues. After yesterday’s swim, some shoulder pain post-swim did not alleviate. I decided that ice was in order, so I put a cold pack on the shoulder. That didn’t seem to help, so later I applied heat. All I think I did was further irritate the sensory receptors, which made the pain worse. Today, after physical therapy, I decided I would leave the shoulder alone by attempting no hot or cold therapies and taking a day off from swimming. It feels better, so I did the right thing.

I watched some NCAA “Women’s” Softball, although from a pure context of time, these women could be my granddaughters, had I grandaughters. I know that is mean and unenlightened to say, but if these women are 19 or 20, that means I was 47 or 48 when they were born, placing me in what I call “grandfather” range. I know, that could be patronizing or whatever, but Hell, I’m an old man, what do you expect? I don’t have a handicapped sticker, so I’m looking for a break somewhere.

I’m watching some Russians do a homemade Youtube show. They are speaking Russian and have gone to their ministorage locker. This is Russia today. Again the Russians are so much like us now. Seems as if peace should be the natural state between us.

I don’t really trust the politicians to craft a foreign policy that brings security to both countries.

I can barely stay awake. Bedtime.

Tired. I went swimming in the afternoon. I can move through the water with no problem. The soreness and pain take over when I done.

J had dinner with a friend. I had some leftover beef brisket to eat, along with some vegetables. After dinner I washed the dishes. When I returned home I started a load of laundry. When J came home I did another to take care of her work outfits, mostly red shirts.

I’m tired. J is watching a movie that I have no desire to watch. I will try to sleep.

J says she hates when I wear a sleeveless t-shirt, or athletic shirt, known colloquially in the U S of A as a “wife beater”.

Truth is I like them. They tend to feel hotter than other t-shirts, but I like the look if I’m in any kind of good shape.

So here I am.