Space

You continue to delude yourself with the, uh, delusion that this blog is about you. You are immaterial, or rather you are the material, the screen upon which I project my mind's eye. How nice it would be if you would accept your humble station in life and appreciate the fact that I even acknowledge your existence. Most people would have that decency. It's something for you to think about. That you presume to be impatient with me and the humorous themes I deign to favor you with is yet another indication of how unworthy you are of my blessings. Think about it, is all. How dry and meaningless your drab existence would be without me.

My shoulder seems to be improving. There's a little click in it, but those things go away. The banged shin is slightly improved, color better and a bit less squishy. I've given some thought to what effect megadosing omega 3 as I do would have on that process. Since it's highly anti-inflammatory -- unlike your opinions -- would I recover faster, or slower, than otherwise. Very often a hysterical inflammatory reaction adds to the problem. But inflammation is part of healing. What is its role in clearing away bruises? Flushing the area with fluids would be a good thing, since it does have a function, a healing function when it occurs to a healthy, non-hysterical degree. Wasn't that an elegant sentence? I'm like a graduate course in expository writing. You're welcome. And did I mention that my cholesterol is 129?

Rolled no-gi today. A young muscleman, a chick, and then that muscleman again. Flowed with the chick. I put my hand on her breast. Then I just moved it away. Only a little awkward. This is after all a sport where you may find your face precisely in some dude's crotch. You deal with it by simply defining it as not meaningful. Pretty much dominated the young dude, especially in the second go-around. I tried using the overhook from the guard, slipping my hips out to the side, driving him to the mat. It worked. Surprising, actually. Ended up with the mount, somehow. Very nice.

No-gi is much less threatening -- faster and more slippery. I'm getting back into bjj shape -- not a better shape, just different. A few more weeks and I'll be there. Still rusty in terms of technique, but I'm just kidding myself about being very technical. I do try, but it's mostly long bones. Even so, I hope to make a mental adjustment, re aggression. It's necessary. I've said before that this sort of direct physical confrontation, as a sport, is necessary for masculine mental health. Next step for me is to start actually fighting, if you get my meaning. Get comfortable imposing my will, or trying to. Get comfortable failing, if I do. It is after all only a sport. That perspective is part of leaving childhood behind, the final ragged shreds of childhood.

Yes, there is a point. It has to do with context. Yesterday late I was overtaken by some mute demon of despair. There's no reason for it, no single simple reason. Why was Job's family killed? No reason. God just allowed it. It's a mind-of-God thing, then, beyond our ken. I'm lying of course, but you see my meaning. There's no reason for it that I feel like doing anything about. And today things are better.

In a week or so it would be Joey's 21st birthday. What ever became of him, I wonder. That was the time that I learned the value of sleep. It ushers us into a new day, with its cushion of time that muffles pain, makes it bearable. Distance, it seems, means safety. Am I wrong to have learned such lessons? In any case, today is not yesterday, and I feel fine. I have learned that about myself, about life. Even wounds that don't heal become familiar, and therefore less painful.

Maybe that's one of the purposes of life. In an infinite universe that we will live in forever, we have to develop some perspective early on. Like angels, there will be a time when our character is set, and we won't be able to learn anything more about wisdom, except details.


J