  Wrapping up some loose ends today. Going in to school to more or less say hello to my favourite prof, hanging with Bryan for some lobster bisque at Grappa and then back to my place for a heapin helpin of spinach salad, wine, and a Margaret Cho DVD. Good to have a hearty laugh and some healthy food. Good to get out and absorb a bit of sunshine, eating raw veggies and fresh fruit while keeping my mind excited with a truly interesting article on Woolf. I think Ill link it up to my VW Diaries page urlLink here . Keeping my foot out of plain view is helping too. I think I just get used to being in pain, in a compromised state of health, that I forget the severity of the situation. I mean, I feel as if I should be back out there running in a couple of weeks by the feel of the pain.
And then I take a shower today and see the thing. Its horrid. Purple, all of it, with tiny steri-strips holding together a ragged incision. The size... as if a baseball was implanted into it. I forget without that ocular proof to remind me. but it helps too when it comes to forgetting the frustrated physical impotence. I woke this morning thought about graduation and the fact that I, months ago, invited KerriLou. Then emailed her to say that I wasnt going through with it. I woke this morning and saw a picture of us on my wall, and out of nowhere like a torrent of stormy emotion, I broke out into loud sobs.
I hadnt even had a glass of water and a piss yet, and already I was crying. Hard, like I lost something all over again. hard, this graduation. Lots of emotions pooling just beneath the surface of my thin skin. I delivered the CD and an amazingly vibrant rose cut from my garden. Electric pink, smelling of fruit. I was shy about the exchange; glad that she wasnt in the mood to fawn over anything.
Not a let down for me; I hate having my passion for being a sweetie pie to my ladies come off as inappropriately kind. Im listening to a copy of the CD right now, reviewing and reasserting confidence that I picked a winning mix. Flashbacks to Nick Hornbys High Fidelity and the art of the perfect mix tape. The art of it. I want her to feel the physical component to the aesthetic.
Like that article speaks about; its both the mind and body that participate in the experience of great art. If I was truly well, Id shut the windows, turn up the music, and clean this room already. Laundry on my unmade bed is about the extent of it, but the thought of tending to it makes my foot ache. Maybe just a re-up on the orange juice medley and a long spell of just listening with my eyes closed. 
