Been working like a dog to make my goal of 104 miles a month, the average I’ll need to make the big 1-2-5-0 for the year, but no. Four of the six recumbent bikes are broken at my gym, so I hopped on the traditional stationaries and did some good miles over the last two days. Woke up this morning and my back reminded me why I do not ride those things. Advil didn’t help, either. There was grimacing to be had.

Listen to me whine. Blah, blah, blah. The upside is I can walk and talk and work and feel thin after all that effort (though 240+ is not thin). Bet people were wondering why I had a strange look on my face all day, though. Sorry, folks.

Have things gone to crap?

Feeling a little like the park statue under a flock of pigeons? 

That no matter how high you reach for the sunlight, the depth of the well you’re drowning in exceeds your farthest reach? 

Having a day where every public toilet is out of paper?

Then ask yourself this question:

Heard this on NPR this morning.

“Pitchers and catchers report in two weeks.”

Spring is just around the corner! Yes!

(From Aunt Lily.)

1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.

2. A day without sunshine is like, Night.

3. On the other hand, you have different fingers.

(more…)

You be careful up there. We’re thinking of you down here.

This one’s for you:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.