Showing posts with label hypomania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hypomania. Show all posts
1.06.2008
as i read Jane Eyre again
i reach the part where mental illness is referenced as ¡lunacy! ¡depravity ¡madness! Brontë's writing consumes me, but in doing so soothes, for no longer is mental illness defined as lunacy, depravity, madness.
1.14.2007
¡¡¡ t h a t d o e s i t !!!
i hate shopping for groceries on sunday i hate shopping for groceries period despised ritual that only makes me see the worst rather than perceive society with neutrality i cannot help but see aisles and rows full of consumer goods foodstuff beyond the reach of so many the neutral perspective it should have witness this series of events in which i attempt to make my way in and out of this odious gathering place as quickly as possible for which purpose exist express check out clearly marked with the maximum number of items allowed per line unfortunately in my state of mind a reeling down a spiraling up altogether at once not one after the other mind you altogether and i am conscious of this and my meds just keeping from sinking or taking off but i did not need this i did not need this little excursion to the land of foodstuff and its unnecessarily prolonged end for ahead of me unnoticed until it was too late was a seemingly well dressed couple with a shopping cart overflowing with goods i double take i look again thrice still calm outwardly but temperature rising and of course they know they know they are complete insensitive unabashed anal orifices so they cautiously avoid eye contact with myself immediately behind them in the check out line and then two others behind me and i look away for i do not want to be the angry bee o t c h i feel like being and i believe i do a good job avoid all negative body language remaining neutral not crossing my arms not clicking my tongue or tapping my foot or finger this will all pass after all and become yet another example in which someone bipolar displays better behavior than the so called norm alright it will end but wait no not yet for the female imbecile questions a price notices there is a discrepancy that the cashier has to call in additional minutes pass i remain calm the person behind me leaves and i want to lash out i want to lambaste these two the way they deserve in a way no one else would hold against me but becoming the center of the tumult will not forward any cause minutes elapse and i finally am allowed to reach the cashier who apologizes even though she was not responsible what can you expect from a minimum wage earner to stand up to paying customers that simply based on appearance would gain the sympathy of the manager on duty with a minor admonishment likely limited to a glare and a please do not do that again i pay i walk out my mobile rings a request for an additional series of items coming from the source i cannot but yield i will do anything for the source of that voice so i direct myself to the deli section and wait as i had done before and of course being sunday is packed not just by meats but meatheads suddenly i hear a synthesized voice call for the next number a sound foreign to me in this setting oh it appears they installed a take a next number machine and i missed it and must wait longer yet finally leave the dreaded acreage thanking everybody for their contribution to my incipient headache driving still calm these meds still dulling the edge i get home and the embrace warmth of touch just does it i made it again
1.10.2007
racing
strange day,strange disposition.punch my fist repeatedly on the counter as i wait for my calories to arrive.embrace the pain as it increases in direct proportion to my strength.
i sought the zone,the peloton--me the breakaway rider,first leading the pack,speeding around a rain-sheened curve,falling,dropping behind,the peloton within sight,reach,but i not in.
insight into how close i am to the end of this tour.
i sought the zone,the peloton--me the breakaway rider,first leading the pack,speeding around a rain-sheened curve,falling,dropping behind,the peloton within sight,reach,but i not in.
insight into how close i am to the end of this tour.
12.20.2006
Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling
Surely, there are many ways in which risk-taking behavior related to hypomania could manifest itself. A patient could have been reared in a strict family setting during formative years (nurture?), and/or needed to exercise absolute control of both bipolar states due to the nature of employment. Specific to hypomania, and based on such environmental factors, the manifestation could appear controlling, or controlled itself.
Rather than “running credit cards to the limit,” “engaging in risky sexual behavior,” et al, pushing physically to endurance limits, could be a potential sign of a patient’s hypomanic state. While I have developed this theory on-the-fly, it is likely the subject of doctoral theses defended.
I am writing this, head propped back on my Aeron (a small self indulgence—we all have them—my idea of an object of beauty (I did not get a bag, car, or what-not)), eyes closed as I do. Edits will likely abound, but the moment this is, and seize it I must.
stuck in traffic, not quite rush hour, after all, it is close to holidays and working stiffs that we all are, except the lucky few who need to burn the vacation time they have accrued rather than loose it (never mind, that the paternalistic enterprise sees it fit to institute a " vacation bank,” to “donate time to fellow employees who may need it." As thoughtful a gesture as this is, the root may be less altruistic—you feel encouraged; you can guiltlessly work yourself to oblivion™, not take the time off, and donate the balance to some worthy cause. How is that for slogan of the day? I need to trademark it.
So traffic, yes. Turn the curve of the off ramp and think, “there is my trail. I must go run”. I exit the highway, I turn to the park. All this unplanned until 50 seconds back.
When I arrive, it is dusky. I peel off work togs, put on exercise ones. It becomes duskier as I strap my Polar to my chest (courtesy link to dispel some of the mystery of my writing). “Wait. I forgot. I have new shoes: brand new Pumas Even better!
I decide not to stretch (oopsie!), to compensate for growing duskiness, absorbing nightfall. I strap my ‘Pod to my arm (today, I want a director, a guide, someone to keep pace with). I begin. But alas, what is this? My shoelace undone! Thirty seconds into a run, full bore (wait, you shall see, for there is more). I tie. Done. Go.
Four hours earlier, I am yawn-yawn at my place of employ, now this. Full bore. I mean, four-foot-stride-run-like-a-Texas-dust-devil full bore. This is not leisurely. This is brutally, but not really, since I am doing it for fun, for need. I need to do it. I have to.
With upbringing in which a patient exercises control, and later in life, work environs that demand utmost control, for to flinch could mean death, or to reveal, guaranteed loss of employment…
As you can see, flinch quite often, I do, but controlled, concealed—I hope. My main hypomanic risk-taking manifestation is this push-to-the-limit-thing—well, driving insanely fast at times and small other things like that aside. No shopping sprees, hyper-sexuality, credit unruly. Just this. This silly little thing that actually may be good for me, non?
[...A minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; I throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? I saw them last time. Raccoons?"
So I manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and I bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if I were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! I must...] be delirious: my shoelace unknotted. So I stop the watch, tie the culprit up, get back on track.
the dark gets darker, night's door closes on me, and I on this trail, perhaps minutes before the park closes (dusk, it says: "park closes at dusk." A winter thing (Winter Solstice in two days)). Dark as it is, I see.
I see ahead. I am in tunnel vision mode. Totally absorbed, unconsciously running (quite interesting, come to think about it). Luckily, I know this two mile trail. Except of course, pebbles move, mud, yes, delightful mud grows like a canker on the trail.
The canopy changes now from deciduous—oaks mainly—to a small patch of pines, and then the open before the next stretch. I can see. I can see for a minute or two. I can see that there is mud ahead, and no way around it. But I do not care. How could I? Why should I? It is not the mud per-se, it is not the upcoming new-shoe-baptism-by-mud. “How deep is it?” “What does it hide?” “Will I twist an ankle?”
The tunnel blinders come off when my shoelace becomes loose yet again. My feet tell me they are wet with the squishy-squishy voice. They are far from happy. It is 43 Fahrenheit. I am not equipped for this run. All I have is two layers of t-shirts, and shorts (Brrr!)
Now the uphill. I keep the banshee-like running up. I look at the Polar’s screen, which intriguingly has no backlight, and accidentally turn the stopwatch off. Frustration. Expletives. Numerous. 8:08 it reads before it resets.
Start it again. Run.
but perhaps that is why the patient fears it, fears "losing" self to it. The patient could be frightened to "falling prey" to the greatness that this driving force could push to achieve, and become "worried as much as elevated." A feeling such that the patient could not break free, a “Mein Kampf.”
Much, much darker now, as I enter the forest again. But I look back because, in front of me, I can almost see a shadow. Is there a moon? No, only clouds. I am now almost there, to the trailhead. Lungs a bit challenged, for the air is cold and the earth uphill. I look back again; eerie glow. Moon? (Hmmm...)
The trail turns its final bend. "Shadow?" "Again?" As my body motions, my brain theorizes: "there is a moon indeed, and it is behind the clouds." I drop the thought at the 300 yard marker.
There. Done. I add the time to the 8:08. Two miles, cross country, in the dark: 14:49. No physical damage.
Rather than “running credit cards to the limit,” “engaging in risky sexual behavior,” et al, pushing physically to endurance limits, could be a potential sign of a patient’s hypomanic state. While I have developed this theory on-the-fly, it is likely the subject of doctoral theses defended.
I am writing this, head propped back on my Aeron (a small self indulgence—we all have them—my idea of an object of beauty (I did not get a bag, car, or what-not)), eyes closed as I do. Edits will likely abound, but the moment this is, and seize it I must.
stuck in traffic, not quite rush hour, after all, it is close to holidays and working stiffs that we all are, except the lucky few who need to burn the vacation time they have accrued rather than loose it (never mind, that the paternalistic enterprise sees it fit to institute a " vacation bank,” to “donate time to fellow employees who may need it." As thoughtful a gesture as this is, the root may be less altruistic—you feel encouraged; you can guiltlessly work yourself to oblivion™, not take the time off, and donate the balance to some worthy cause. How is that for slogan of the day? I need to trademark it.
So traffic, yes. Turn the curve of the off ramp and think, “there is my trail. I must go run”. I exit the highway, I turn to the park. All this unplanned until 50 seconds back.
When I arrive, it is dusky. I peel off work togs, put on exercise ones. It becomes duskier as I strap my Polar to my chest (courtesy link to dispel some of the mystery of my writing). “Wait. I forgot. I have new shoes: brand new Pumas Even better!
I decide not to stretch (oopsie!), to compensate for growing duskiness, absorbing nightfall. I strap my ‘Pod to my arm (today, I want a director, a guide, someone to keep pace with). I begin. But alas, what is this? My shoelace undone! Thirty seconds into a run, full bore (wait, you shall see, for there is more). I tie. Done. Go.
Four hours earlier, I am yawn-yawn at my place of employ, now this. Full bore. I mean, four-foot-stride-run-like-a-Texas-dust-devil full bore. This is not leisurely. This is brutally, but not really, since I am doing it for fun, for need. I need to do it. I have to.
With upbringing in which a patient exercises control, and later in life, work environs that demand utmost control, for to flinch could mean death, or to reveal, guaranteed loss of employment…
As you can see, flinch quite often, I do, but controlled, concealed—I hope. My main hypomanic risk-taking manifestation is this push-to-the-limit-thing—well, driving insanely fast at times and small other things like that aside. No shopping sprees, hyper-sexuality, credit unruly. Just this. This silly little thing that actually may be good for me, non?
[...A minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; I throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? I saw them last time. Raccoons?"
So I manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and I bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if I were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! I must...] be delirious: my shoelace unknotted. So I stop the watch, tie the culprit up, get back on track.
the dark gets darker, night's door closes on me, and I on this trail, perhaps minutes before the park closes (dusk, it says: "park closes at dusk." A winter thing (Winter Solstice in two days)). Dark as it is, I see.
I see ahead. I am in tunnel vision mode. Totally absorbed, unconsciously running (quite interesting, come to think about it). Luckily, I know this two mile trail. Except of course, pebbles move, mud, yes, delightful mud grows like a canker on the trail.
The canopy changes now from deciduous—oaks mainly—to a small patch of pines, and then the open before the next stretch. I can see. I can see for a minute or two. I can see that there is mud ahead, and no way around it. But I do not care. How could I? Why should I? It is not the mud per-se, it is not the upcoming new-shoe-baptism-by-mud. “How deep is it?” “What does it hide?” “Will I twist an ankle?”
The tunnel blinders come off when my shoelace becomes loose yet again. My feet tell me they are wet with the squishy-squishy voice. They are far from happy. It is 43 Fahrenheit. I am not equipped for this run. All I have is two layers of t-shirts, and shorts (Brrr!)
Now the uphill. I keep the banshee-like running up. I look at the Polar’s screen, which intriguingly has no backlight, and accidentally turn the stopwatch off. Frustration. Expletives. Numerous. 8:08 it reads before it resets.
Start it again. Run.
but perhaps that is why the patient fears it, fears "losing" self to it. The patient could be frightened to "falling prey" to the greatness that this driving force could push to achieve, and become "worried as much as elevated." A feeling such that the patient could not break free, a “Mein Kampf.”
Much, much darker now, as I enter the forest again. But I look back because, in front of me, I can almost see a shadow. Is there a moon? No, only clouds. I am now almost there, to the trailhead. Lungs a bit challenged, for the air is cold and the earth uphill. I look back again; eerie glow. Moon? (Hmmm...)
The trail turns its final bend. "Shadow?" "Again?" As my body motions, my brain theorizes: "there is a moon indeed, and it is behind the clouds." I drop the thought at the 300 yard marker.
There. Done. I add the time to the 8:08. Two miles, cross country, in the dark: 14:49. No physical damage.
Trailer
I cannot believe they screen trailers for films due out next summer:
"Spider-Man 3, coming summer 2007."
As much as I dislike this practice, here is my own:
...a minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; i throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? i saw them last time. raccoons?"
so i manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and i bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if i were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! i must...
Read "Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling" coming soon to a blog near you.
I must go now to learn tennis.
"Spider-Man 3, coming summer 2007."
As much as I dislike this practice, here is my own:
...a minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; i throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? i saw them last time. raccoons?"
so i manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and i bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if i were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! i must...
Read "Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling" coming soon to a blog near you.
I must go now to learn tennis.
12.19.2006
energy potential ad infinitum
Yves Deruyter leads prayer.
inner peace burns like fire.
my mood, a live wire.
may now never expire.
i do not endure; this is no ill.
dare i ever inquest this thrill?
inhale, suffuse, degust at will,
or instead avoid getting my fill?
stigmata: my ears bleeding.
intensity, thunderous beating.
heresy! you accuse seething.
my body, my mind, time: meeting.
how else to convey,
what words cannot say.
feelings that i must obey,
or be swept by the fray.
chemistry peaking.
subduedness, meds preaching.
should i be weeping?
the end, incessantly creeping.
why should i fear?
of this, i feel dear.
yet, trouble lurks near,
that is painfully clear.
The rest all around,
do not make a sound.
Will my secret be found,
Or forever be bound?
Repose, reach me slowly.
my feelings, so holy;
crash, I fear, I will, strongly.
this fear, a figment? Imagined only?
inner peace burns like fire.
my mood, a live wire.
may now never expire.
i do not endure; this is no ill.
dare i ever inquest this thrill?
inhale, suffuse, degust at will,
or instead avoid getting my fill?
stigmata: my ears bleeding.
intensity, thunderous beating.
heresy! you accuse seething.
my body, my mind, time: meeting.
how else to convey,
what words cannot say.
feelings that i must obey,
or be swept by the fray.
chemistry peaking.
subduedness, meds preaching.
should i be weeping?
the end, incessantly creeping.
why should i fear?
of this, i feel dear.
yet, trouble lurks near,
that is painfully clear.
The rest all around,
do not make a sound.
Will my secret be found,
Or forever be bound?
Repose, reach me slowly.
my feelings, so holy;
crash, I fear, I will, strongly.
this fear, a figment? Imagined only?
11.30.2006
Survival Mode
-00:47:00
Sit through meeting I declined but to which I was “re-invited.” Know its outcome beforehand; know it will devolve into what it does: commiseration.
-00:24:00
All agree on what has to be done, yet cannot do. I, operating on three hours of sleep, burst out the futility of the meeting.
-00:20:00
Leave room. Immediately regret. Print four copies of “sorry” note and place on attendees desks.
00:00:00
Hope I can rely on my [Jane’s-Addiction-]-“Ritual-[-de-lo-Habitual”] to cleanse myself through physical energy departing my body, my mitochondrion, doing their best to convert into ATP whatever glucose my bloodstream carries, so that my muscles can mindlessly but purposefully burn it. But I have so neglected myself as of late. Depress Start.
+00:08:00
I shut my eyes.
+00:16:00
In the middle of a DJ Shah mix these words fade over the pulsing:
“…It's touching life, it's touching life, it's touching, and it's touching life,
Imagine the silence of light,
Full of texture, full of color, starry lights,
As the moon suspended in the night,
See it, finally everything.
It's breathing life, it's breathing life, it's breathing life.
Looking through the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful, I want it.
Looking thorough the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful,
That I want it inside of me,
Of me, of me, of me, of me. I want it.
As if on cue…
+00:17:00
…this is not happening. It has been so long….and I have longed to touch it—at least—enter it if I am worthy, deserving: the zone. I do. Briefly. Once, twice, thrice…
+00:20:00
In full automutilation mode; throb of music through my veins; eyes shut still; motion in balance, no degradation. I have kept balance while stepping as I have learned to do. Chug, once, twice. Return drinking vessel to its receptacle.
+00:30:00
Reverse direction, increase slope x 6. Reduce resistance x 2. I usually alter settings more often, but today is “special.”
+00:31:34
Shift speed as the beat transitions from one song to another, masterfully cross faded by Shah. An unfortunate glimpse reminds me I am still here. EFX display reads 175 Watts (2 x 60 W E26 Medium Edison Screw light bulbs, 1 x 40 W ceiling fan E26, and 1 x F25T12 Fluorescent lamp (I usually power 2x100 W flood lamps +/- a handful of E12 Candelabra-Screw nightlights).
+00:38:00
Have entered and exited the zone at least eight times for a total duration of one minute and a half. Not the zone core, not full consciousness/loss of consciousness of self, but satisfying nonetheless. I can feel it: my facial muscles have relaxed from a frown to an incipient smile. Been too long without it, longed for it so, have I. Do not believe myself to possess an addictive personality, but this is beyond addiction: this is biological need. Although I feel so, I still lapse, behavior shifting to the opposite extreme—total disregard for self.
+00:41:00
Hear myself think “nothing matters, nothing matters, nothing matters” at half the tempo of the music. Nothing else occupies my mind. This is it. Just my voice and silence. The zone. I am my own church. church, my religion I am. LaVey-Satanic as it sounds, I know this is more like what Buddhist chanting, the rosary prayer, the Allahu Akbar (Allah is Great) mantra accomplish.
+00:46:00
For crap’s sake! Eyes shut still, I depress Reset in error. EFX display flashes workout stats as I frantically attempt to restart. Opt for Quick Start. Litre bottle is now empty.
+01:04:00
EFX display reads 1.80 miles, 195 kcal, 18:00 Min, I think. Music has stopped too suddenly for me to transition coherently to reality. My Polar reads HR 154 BPM aver., 172 max. Interpolate for missing values and determine totals to be approximately 5.5 miles and 600 kcal. Respectable, considering.
+01:27:00
Walk to work in a smiley, happy daze. A tinge of plantar fasciitis awakens in my left foot. Pain will linger through the day, despite meds. Irrelevant; actually it is good to feel.
+01:42:00
Nipples are sore. Did not anticipate such long a session. Had I known, I would have worn poly instead of cotton.
+01:42:49
Ouch! Should cover them with Band-Aids (flashback - 7 years when I covered nipple piercing during physical exam—glad piercing was out + 3 years for an MRI!).
+02:00:00
Two litres of water later… no food. Pee very yellow. Feel life.
+02:50:00
Three bananas later, 800 mg Ibu., and half a litre of water more, I feel partially replenished, but am still peeing yellow. Must continue to push water through.
+03:23:00
Ibu. kicks in. Left plantar fascia ceases to bother. Feel the urge to run my favorite x-country trail later. No music this time, just the quiet, layered with my breath and remixed with my heartbeat…and if I am lucky a redrum track of percussive rain on leaves, resampled and looped with the sub-range neuronal electric activity thunder of my gustatory papillae signaling to my brain the saltiness of rain + sweat mix.
+03:30:00
Ravenously devour a slice of whole wheat bread. Rain falls lightly outside. Two more hours.
+03:42:00
Brita-filter another litre of fluoridated swill into my reused PETE bottle. Almost there, almost time.
+04:15:00
Pee is less yellow, still not clear enough. Chug more water. Take a sip of leftover cold decaf. Clean-up. GTG.
+05:00:00
Suck down the rest of the decaf. Go pee.
+5:30
b y e .
Sit through meeting I declined but to which I was “re-invited.” Know its outcome beforehand; know it will devolve into what it does: commiseration.
-00:24:00
All agree on what has to be done, yet cannot do. I, operating on three hours of sleep, burst out the futility of the meeting.
-00:20:00
Leave room. Immediately regret. Print four copies of “sorry” note and place on attendees desks.
00:00:00
Hope I can rely on my [Jane’s-Addiction-]-“Ritual-[-de-lo-Habitual”] to cleanse myself through physical energy departing my body, my mitochondrion, doing their best to convert into ATP whatever glucose my bloodstream carries, so that my muscles can mindlessly but purposefully burn it. But I have so neglected myself as of late. Depress Start.
+00:08:00
I shut my eyes.
+00:16:00
In the middle of a DJ Shah mix these words fade over the pulsing:
“…It's touching life, it's touching life, it's touching, and it's touching life,
Imagine the silence of light,
Full of texture, full of color, starry lights,
As the moon suspended in the night,
See it, finally everything.
It's breathing life, it's breathing life, it's breathing life.
Looking through the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful, I want it.
Looking thorough the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful,
That I want it inside of me,
Of me, of me, of me, of me. I want it.
As if on cue…
+00:17:00
…this is not happening. It has been so long….and I have longed to touch it—at least—enter it if I am worthy, deserving: the zone. I do. Briefly. Once, twice, thrice…
+00:20:00
In full automutilation mode; throb of music through my veins; eyes shut still; motion in balance, no degradation. I have kept balance while stepping as I have learned to do. Chug, once, twice. Return drinking vessel to its receptacle.
+00:30:00
Reverse direction, increase slope x 6. Reduce resistance x 2. I usually alter settings more often, but today is “special.”
+00:31:34
Shift speed as the beat transitions from one song to another, masterfully cross faded by Shah. An unfortunate glimpse reminds me I am still here. EFX display reads 175 Watts (2 x 60 W E26 Medium Edison Screw light bulbs, 1 x 40 W ceiling fan E26, and 1 x F25T12 Fluorescent lamp (I usually power 2x100 W flood lamps +/- a handful of E12 Candelabra-Screw nightlights).
+00:38:00
Have entered and exited the zone at least eight times for a total duration of one minute and a half. Not the zone core, not full consciousness/loss of consciousness of self, but satisfying nonetheless. I can feel it: my facial muscles have relaxed from a frown to an incipient smile. Been too long without it, longed for it so, have I. Do not believe myself to possess an addictive personality, but this is beyond addiction: this is biological need. Although I feel so, I still lapse, behavior shifting to the opposite extreme—total disregard for self.
+00:41:00
Hear myself think “nothing matters, nothing matters, nothing matters” at half the tempo of the music. Nothing else occupies my mind. This is it. Just my voice and silence. The zone. I am my own church. church, my religion I am. LaVey-Satanic as it sounds, I know this is more like what Buddhist chanting, the rosary prayer, the Allahu Akbar (Allah is Great) mantra accomplish.
+00:46:00
For crap’s sake! Eyes shut still, I depress Reset in error. EFX display flashes workout stats as I frantically attempt to restart. Opt for Quick Start. Litre bottle is now empty.
+01:04:00
EFX display reads 1.80 miles, 195 kcal, 18:00 Min, I think. Music has stopped too suddenly for me to transition coherently to reality. My Polar reads HR 154 BPM aver., 172 max. Interpolate for missing values and determine totals to be approximately 5.5 miles and 600 kcal. Respectable, considering.
+01:27:00
Walk to work in a smiley, happy daze. A tinge of plantar fasciitis awakens in my left foot. Pain will linger through the day, despite meds. Irrelevant; actually it is good to feel.
+01:42:00
Nipples are sore. Did not anticipate such long a session. Had I known, I would have worn poly instead of cotton.
+01:42:49
Ouch! Should cover them with Band-Aids (flashback - 7 years when I covered nipple piercing during physical exam—glad piercing was out + 3 years for an MRI!).
+02:00:00
Two litres of water later… no food. Pee very yellow. Feel life.
+02:50:00
Three bananas later, 800 mg Ibu., and half a litre of water more, I feel partially replenished, but am still peeing yellow. Must continue to push water through.
+03:23:00
Ibu. kicks in. Left plantar fascia ceases to bother. Feel the urge to run my favorite x-country trail later. No music this time, just the quiet, layered with my breath and remixed with my heartbeat…and if I am lucky a redrum track of percussive rain on leaves, resampled and looped with the sub-range neuronal electric activity thunder of my gustatory papillae signaling to my brain the saltiness of rain + sweat mix.
+03:30:00
Ravenously devour a slice of whole wheat bread. Rain falls lightly outside. Two more hours.
+03:42:00
Brita-filter another litre of fluoridated swill into my reused PETE bottle. Almost there, almost time.
+04:15:00
Pee is less yellow, still not clear enough. Chug more water. Take a sip of leftover cold decaf. Clean-up. GTG.
+05:00:00
Suck down the rest of the decaf. Go pee.
+5:30
b y e .
11.28.2006
Por qua non?
energy. sap me. finite. physical + mental. quanta. reduce by the eon, the fentosecond. count. balance. achieve? what if? what if not? struggle. the theory goes like that.
c r i p e s ! w h a t o n e a r t h a m i d o i n g u p a n d w h a t i s t h e t i m e ?
c r i p e s ! w h a t o n e a r t h a m i d o i n g u p a n d w h a t i s t h e t i m e ?
10.05.2006
Torquemada y más
Torquemada: Inquisitor General, Spanish Inquisition. "The hammer of heretics, the light of España, the savior of his country, the honor of his order."
Swing, dramatic. Physical, unreal. Mental, I lost track. Setenta minutos on a stationary bike with 165 average heart rate and peaks of 190. All that on 1000 kcal. hypofisicalmanic? hipo physical mania? mania hipofisica? hipomania fisica? physical hypomania? mania hipo fisica?
Swing, dramatic. Physical, unreal. Mental, I lost track. Setenta minutos on a stationary bike with 165 average heart rate and peaks of 190. All that on 1000 kcal. hypofisicalmanic? hipo physical mania? mania hipofisica? hipomania fisica? physical hypomania? mania hipo fisica?
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