Out All the Uhms

Sitting here catching up on writing.  Writing well enough.  Writing fast enough. But the strain that pains my left wrist when I try to use my wrist to rotate the sixty-five pound weight at the gym isn’t happy now with all this typing.  There are many things that would be profoundly comprising to lose.  Typing would be an aching sacrifice.  I could never capture words by any other means, this quickly.  I could dictate if I had to.  But I suspect I’d hate it and get lost in the dental surgery of editing out all the uhms.

Not sure what it is that hurts up in there.  Is this just arthritis?  Is this a line of sinews that was irritated doing exercises?  Is the message, “don’t do any muscle work on this arm for a while, Jack.  Leave it alone.  Or is the message, “work through it.  Ignore it and it will go away.”  Perhaps I’m drinking too much coffee?  Is that what’s aggravating this particular tendon?  Doubtful.  Anyway, tomorrow is a leg day at the gym.  We’ll give it a rest.

My daughter talked of many young girls over.  I made lasagna and eggplant parmesan.  I made garlic bread and I fried breaded zucchini sticks.  But there were only three girls in attendance.  And though they were gracious at having lots of everything, it was clear I made too much.  “Don’t worry, a bunch of friends will come later, I was told.  They’re coming at 10:00PM.  They’re watching a movie so they’ll come later.” 

                                            

I came up on our man who does bike maintenance out by the ‘dingzi lukou’ to the right of our compound.  My tires don’t have a leak that can’t be managed.  But pausing and squeezing it was clear that a bit of air would be ideal.  I didn’t see him there as I rode out but I was determined to pay him a visit on the way back.  He was there but he was crashed out on a battered old collapsible, chaise lounge.  Last time we’d spoke I’d noticed that he wasn’t simply the short, pithy, grizzled old man with one lame hand, he was also drunk as a lord there in the sun in the middle of the day.  As he stirred to rise I realized today he was once again passed out, smelling the part.  He gestured to his hand pump and suggested I pump it up myself.  He wouldn’t charge me.  I paid him anyway.  More than I needed to.   Paying this time I offered: “You really shouldn’t drink so much, big brother.”  His friend laughed and shot me a thumbs-up.  The bike guy was oblivious though thankful for the money he wasn’t necessarily expecting.

Saturday 09/16/17