Monday, January 19, 2004

In Which I Finally Replace The Deposed Albert With Mr. Toad

So today I resume the part of my life that was derailed on 9.27.

How odd it seems. I am no longer, what was the Larkin line, a "...wax-fleshed outpatient/still vague from accidents..." taking the sun in the park, awol from "the toad work."

It seems out of character to arise and -- exercise. As in physical therapy. I am a sloth's sloth. Physiculture is and always has been my anathema. But change we must and do. ("We must, we must, we must increase our bust" is a silly refrain that occurs to me when I do the stretch-the-red-band across the chest exercise.) I sort of like the exercises. Except for the fiendish little number called "wall angels." Don't even ask. I have a new (and probably permanent) little grinding sound when I turn my head right -- like pulmonary rales, a little kkcchhht. Trivial. A memento. For those days to come when my excellent therapist says "you won't even think about your neck."

So its back on the train, or on the tracks. Or the toad.

No comments: