Unbridled life is always more marvelous than medicine.  Just sometimes not by much. 

Last Sunday, I missed posting altogether.  And by way of explanation on Monday I wrote:

One weird 24 hours.

Yesterday evening, feeling okay, I decided to run 5 miles to maintain some fitness.  One quarter way through, I detected a wrist sprain.  Where the fuck did that come from?  Half way through I detected right foot trouble—a pang—what the fuck again?  Three-quarters way through, the left foot starts aching—five miles—and I’ve run marathons where such symptoms never manifest.  So I get home, untie my shoes, and…my feet feel like they’ve been run over by a truck.   I think back: there was no damn truck, but I swear my feet feel broken and I’m hobbling on my heels.  So unable to walk, I lay down.  And immediately launch into an uncontrollable jittering convulsive-like fever that lasted for an hour.  I can’t even remember much of my thought process except I did have one thought:  “I guess my last blog is the last.”   So this is the way the blog ends, this is the way the blog ends, not with a bang but...  (with one lonely last eProp?!)   But I shivered and shook like an overflowing spring brook.  So what do you think, was it the Ebola virus?  Nothing to worry about, right?

Truth is, I think I was bit by my second alien bug.  I blogged about the first bite more or less a year ago (But since Xanga's Search isn't working I can't locate that blog to hyperlink it.)  Yet I believe that this bug was trying to trip me toward the grave.  Bastard.

The real truth is, as I found out at an urgent care center today, that I've been running around with my body oozing with strep for a week.  A week filled with sore throats, and headaches, and dizziness, and wooziness, and chest pains.  Yep.  So if any of you Xangeroos or others out there had sex with me, or kissed, licked, or even just swigged from my bottle of beer when I wasn't not looking, and you're feeling  right now like an alien bug has bitten you too, then get a shot of bacyclin like I just did.  Six hours later now and I'm feeling pretty damn good for the first time all week once again.  So without further delay or interruption, back to the unbridled life.  Okay?  Now 'fess up: was that sex or just my strep-inspired dream?!

The Nuclear Regulatory Commission has just determined that eProps are glowingly radioactive with a half-life of 1000 years. 

Bitch.  I'm screwed for my next 10 rebirths. 

I simply am--lost again. 
How is it that I'm always drawn back
to pondering the primal motions of things
--such as the worlds revolving--
as if I'm once again an infant transfixed
upon watching a mobile suspended from the ceiling
as I lay in solitude in my playpen? 
I close my eyes and a montage ensues.
Could I merely own it with my imagination,
like a giant Jimmy Stewart rabbit friend,
then better I'd be.
But what I partake with that inner eye
wrecks imagination quite critically
as it arises and then expands
as reality to infinity.