In Which the Author Confesses a Need For Rest

I am beat. Like, I know what they mean when they say that. Like, I am feeling dead on my feet. Whooooeee but what a run.

I won’t talk about it much now.
But one realization is that people are primates, and like primates (or other animals in any zoo, really), we need something physical to keep us occupied if we’re stuck indoors — which we often are. 

Several of the collective habitations I visited in the last few days have had some form of physical entertainment. One had olympic rings hanging from the ceiling that were fun to swing on. Another had a skate ramp in the 3rd floor kitchen that was fun to run up and down and jump on — drew on it some.

The other realization is that I am friggin tired! I have been burning the candle at both ends, as my Papa likes to say, but really? Underweight, certainly, but why? <sigh> 
It’s too complicated and I don’t trust the medical industry much. Anyone know of a healer who can offer an opinion for trade?


One thought on “In Which the Author Confesses a Need For Rest

  1. Yeah, me…no trade necessary. Don’t fuck with your health–physical or psychological. You need to go to the doctor before you end up dead. Grown men your age are generally underweight because they are knowingly not obtaining enough calories and nutrients, unknowingly not eating properly, some type of eating disorder, stress, depression, or they have a fucking disease–amongst the many reasons. There are reasons why skinny white males drop dead of heart attacks or respiratory problems.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s