  More indecision standing in the chilled airspace before an open subzero leads me to bypass yet another meal in favour of a dry crappaccino from starbucks. Coming in here to pay tribute to my favourite coffee slut, Bryan, working the night shift at the Bad Place. Hearing tales of his days dental appointment involving abscesses and root canal procedures kind of sealed the deal on the whole eating question. Gro-oss. Suppose its just as well. Foods been a mere afterthought for days now, feeling the rising tide of baseless energy swelling beneath my feet.
Commence Operation Upward Swing. Man your battle stations. Like yall cant tell from the blogging spree. Seems a touch milder this time around at least. I can sleep. Failings of will encumbering my high spirits on the drive over here.
Thoughts of Claudia creeping back into my head now that Im back living in my old haunt. The ever-present compulsion to scan the landscape for the car, that green land cruiser, partly out of habit, partly out of curiosity and ok, partly out of longing. Its the latter that struck me sideways. How many years do I have to endure this before I stop loving her? I know, I know soon Ill live in San Marcos a ways away from our neighbourhood and not have this problem sting me with such acute precision. And yes, I can clearly see the circumstances that precipitate these waves of exhilarating nostalgia.
Amy is gone. Lonely as all hell. Thats a big part of why Im writing so much. And further, the disconnect from my aunt now that Im not living there anymore. Such a valued ally, no longer in my day-to-day doings. And too, the last session with my massage therapist was today.
Warm hands are a good thing, you know? Especially from a sweet and pretty young woman named Jennifer. And yes, L5/S1 is pretty much my butt. Tee-hee-hee. Seems my MD prescribed a max of two months of massage treatment after being declared permanent and stationary. Two months!
Hardly better, yall! Im still downing pain pills like tic-tacs. Medicating with frosty malted adult beverages when the situation permits the departure from reality. Draining my bank account to cover bar tabs and therapy bills. Its all about pain avoidance, right? Wish there were some more solid preventative measures set in place to assuage my fears of things just sliding further, adding to the laundry list of things creeping up and laying me out flat.
Even the mundane shit weighs more in the atmosphere of this planet. Getting on the freeway going south on the 5 at Manchester, I groaned to myself for having to file behind a big stinkin truck spewing all sorts of crap into the air, spoiling the perfectly pleasant cigarette I was huffing on. Grinding down to a mere 65 mph hampering my style like a burr in my panties and then a frickin rock kicks up from under his back tire and smacks my hood, off my windshield, and over the roof. Wha-th-f-?! Just what I need  to have my car start looking like Noriegas cheeks. But alas.
Some kiss of grace spared my Maxima the stigma of more battle scars (it's looking pretty good, yo). Yet that poor car needs a relief pitcher to step in before the score gets out of hand. Oh, but cheer up young buck! Tis the time of year for the Acura Tennis Classic to return to the La Costa Spa and Resort! A mere week away, and my head will be filled with visions of fit young women drenched in sweat. Mom got some incredible tickets in the VIP box, and she invited me to go with her and her pal Gail on Tuesday, the day where everyone plays and the practise courts are abuzz with activity you can peek in on through the gaps in the windscreens.
Oh, holy days of womens tennis!! (panting, flushed with excitement) The run-in with Steffi whetted my appetite for the star-struck splendour that makes the week such a kick in the pants. Alright, y'all. Time to watch sportscenter and watch the replays of Lance Armstrong's valiant struggle to overcome the blunder of that STUPID fan that knocked him off the bike. I hope he's French. Would make for more grounded verbal assaults when the time comes to rant about it. 
