[Not much of a post. I'm not in a good mood, stuck in the low following the recent high, made worse by bad weather.]
If I was right about anything, it was the soreness that would hit me following my latest successes with my almost-jogs and swimming. It did not help that a storm front came through, bringing the temperature down, and keeping me in the house. Right when I get a taste of warmth, it's taken away. It should be back soon enough, a matter of days, but until then I shall undoubtedly feel like crap physically and mentally.
It's been noticeable, the mental side, by a sudden increase in my negativity in the few comment sections I visit on the Internet. A passivist pessimist to begin with, I find myself typing, then deleting, typing, then deleting, because I simply should not attack people over things I wouldn't normally. It did not stop me a few times, however. Maybe it's objective proof that I am an asshole. I have stopped visiting the Tower of The Hand (the ASOIAF site I enjoy) until I become more civil. I'm remaining on the Merc's Giant blog site. I'm pretty much thought of as negative there most of the time, being that I like to nitpick the smallest of topics in a baseball game, and that I think Bruce Bochy is the most over rated manager ever. Oh well.
So, to attempt to cheer up my mood, a shall tell of a short discussion I had with house mates during my college days, a few months after having moved into a house off of Ashby near the Berkeley / Oakland boarder.
There were four of us, J, K, L, and M (myself, Mike). How, until this moment, I never noticed we had been consecutive letters of the alphabet is a bit surprising. Anyways, a fifth, D was the one that organized us to live together but had backed out at the last moment. It gave us a bigger living room, and the rent was already cheap (we were near the Ashby BART station, after all), so we did not mind too much. He still came over often enough, if only to smoke our dope.
So it was, all of us together one evening, more likely than not high, we realized how very much the five of us were like a hand. There was D, the thumb, not aligned with us but still part of the group. He brought us together. Without him we would not have lived together. There was K, the index finger, always doing something, always going somewhere. He may not have known why, but he always had an idea he was doing something with a purpose, always pointed toward some goal, real or imaginary. There was J, the ring finger, the one in the longest relationship. He was truly whipped. There was L, the pinky finger, who was part of the group but did not really do much. He was there sometimes, not others, making little difference either way, but definitely a part of the group.
That left me with the middle finger. Go figure.