A long run

...of bad days.

Hey your glass is empty, it's a hell of a long way home.... Not the words you want to hear in your ears when you're half-way through a run. But that's my own fault. I should stop this obsessive listening to the song Good Enough.  That, or stop running. There are definitely attractions to the latter I must say. This need for constant motion. So v. tiring.

Good enough - now would you call that compromise, accepting the facts, or failure to seize what you deserve.

In my case, it means that my glass is empty and it's a hell of a long way home. Not that I really know what home is anymore - literally and metaphorically.

This might add style to the squeeze if not relief the pain
God, it's been a bad few days and I've been trying to squeeze some good out of them, but all that's done is given me a sore wrist - metaphorically that is.

Where to start? Oh  where to start? Let's leave aside the fact that I was a blabbering idiot on the phone today when talking about some make or break it experiments scheduled for next week. Good thing we postponed it from today for no good, no possible good can come out of using high megavoltage machinery what produces a high flux of ionizing radiation when you're in pain, and your brain is kind of high on pain killers. Maybe it's only the placebo effect - being high but who cares what the cause if you're not thinking carefully. Why, I might actually turn the beam where I shouldn't and cause damage (not metaphorical but physical and psychological) to some. And even though there would be great, nay, magnificent satisfaction in doing so, it would be short lived as guilt would descend.

Ah, how my life is shaped by guilt.

I wonder sometimes what it would take to break out of this gully of guilt, but probably best not to think too far down that road for that way madness and frustration lie waiting to wreak spasms of on one.

Acupuncture didn't help this time
Let's not talk too much about spasms either because: Monday - start a cold, Tuesday - suffer through it, Wed - start getting better (I recover quickly, what can I say), Thursday - sneeze and back goes into spasm.

Yesterday, I got home and thought I'd lie down and elevate my legs to relieve my back. Lying down helped, however, then I couldn't get up, and almost had to e-mail (because my N4 wasn't near me, but the N7 was) GA to come up and help me up. Fortunately, with slow movements and more stabbing pains over a course of 15 minutes, I made it to my knees and finally to my feet. After that, I wasn't sitting down again, or lying down until bedtime at which point, I made like a corpse (Cor! 'E makes a lovely looking corpse don't 'e?!), lay on my  back until the morning and then it was agony all over again. Such is life. Agony followed by comatose unconsciousness followed once again by agony.

Yup, that's about right.
Then the garbage trucks or recycling trucks came around, roaring in concentric circles around the building, revving up, gearing down and generally making a hell of a noise. Now, this I accept as part of urban living, it's not like we're in the country where we'd bury our rubbish. But, do we really have to have different companies pick up the rubbish, the recycled paper and containers separately? This means that these damn noisy trucks come roaring around the building up to three times a week and more often than not, wake me up.

Lately too, I've been thinking about the meaning of life. This is not something you should attempt after a disastrous run in the last round of funding competitions, have several failed post-docs who've taken jobs at journals (cue the youtube hitler meme) reject your lovingly written and crafted manuscripts and been ignored by those you wish to impress.

Be that as it may, it happens, you think about life (as you tap on a wooden table with your knuckles and say, "c'est comme ca") and then you realise that people are all lemmings who can't wait to leap off the cliff. And this fact is depressing because what chance is there that you're not just like them?

Oh great, I stand up and live and suffer longer
At the moment, I can't help feeling that my glass is more than empty, that it has a hole in it, and that I'm more than far from home, there's a river running through it. What would you have me say? I'm standing writing this with my keyboard raised on a Styrofoam box because I can't sit, and the naproxen hasn't quite kicked in yet, and it hurts, it just fucking hurts, and I abhor pain of any sort.

So yes, my mood is dark as is my outlook on life. And I know that this too shall pass, that the pain will go away, and I'll forget until the  next time it happens, and that eventually time will run out and I won't be alive and that I'd better enjoy the moment, be glad for all that I have, but it's  pretty chilly comfort knowing all this.

Knowledge isn't always the answer to everything. You can know something, it doesn't follow that you'll feel better for knowing - especially since life is an expert at irony.

Well then. I guess this is. I've had enough of all this blethering and whining. I shall take up BK's offer of special mints and see what other flights of fancy I take. Good night. Feh.