Wandering mind
A good part of today went to telephone/email tag with a recruiter over a gig prospect. This ran far enough into the day that I missed philosophising with my usual group of writers over brewed beverages. The outcome was satisfactory, if not great: client likes my stuff, but client is out of town for a week. Fine; I can't afford to fly after the client, so I'll possess my soul in patience. This news is positive enough to rank as progress.
Also in the progress department, when I began swimming regularly again in mid-July, I could eke about 400 yd and 20 minutes out of my sorta fixed shoulder. I can now keep at it over 30 minutes and do 850 yd. While this is bupkis—the average age-group swimmer can do as well at age 8—it represents an advance for an old person.
Grumpy thought of the day. I would like to locate and lock in a closet the next person who says, or writes, without irony, "something is the new something." Something a) is typically the trend of the moment, and something b) is actually quite safe. Half a million iterations ago, when this was an ironic riff off the shallow speech of the fashionable, it was slightly amusing; not now.
My rocker is busted, and that's why I'm off it.
Also in the progress department, when I began swimming regularly again in mid-July, I could eke about 400 yd and 20 minutes out of my sorta fixed shoulder. I can now keep at it over 30 minutes and do 850 yd. While this is bupkis—the average age-group swimmer can do as well at age 8—it represents an advance for an old person.
Grumpy thought of the day. I would like to locate and lock in a closet the next person who says, or writes, without irony, "something is the new something." Something a) is typically the trend of the moment, and something b) is actually quite safe. Half a million iterations ago, when this was an ironic riff off the shallow speech of the fashionable, it was slightly amusing; not now.
My rocker is busted, and that's why I'm off it.
posted by Uncle | 00:22
2 Comments:
Now it's my turn to feel slovenly. I should swim too. I think of my late coach (died at 100) who swam into his 90s. Plus (or minus) he had one leg since childhood. At his 90th party, he urged the 100 or so of us, his boys, to keep swimming. I guess I'd better spit into my goggles again.
I'm learning the new-to-me breast stroke that all the kids did when I was judging. That's a lesson in turning muscle memory in new directions!
I don't spit anymore: I use Cat Crap(R); a family Christmas gift I never used. Where they got the name is beyond me, because it's a clear silicone gel. It's more like cat puke if you ask me.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home