Holy Crap-Mas!

Short.  Documentation.

It's X-Mas Eve.

Spent the day with 2 extra kids, all behaved extremely well, a surprise.  Must be that last second naughty list possibility that keeps them on their toes.

Regardless, it wiped me out in a big way, not being able to rest during the day.

*     *     *     *     *

Around 5 O'clock, when the kids were picked up, I tried to relax in the hot tub.  It was impossible.  All I could do was unwind, literally.  The weightlessness of the water made it hard not to let the arms, hips and neck adjust.

A great deal shifted.  A Gestalt attempt to describe: mass/muscle went under-behind-then atop the right shoulder; mass/muscle went in front-atop-then behind the left; The right front of my throat (muscle beneath the skin, connected(?) to trachea) was swallowed, allowed to drop, letting my entire head tilt forward slightly.

I am incredibly uncomfortable, both arms seemingly requiring me to send the inverse of signals to them in order to do something without sharp pain.

I'd go the pain pills and pot route and try to go to sleep, but family is here.  On the bright side, they are all women.  Being the lone mail, it is no problem to be out on the periphery, rarely chipping in and able to slip behind a corner to sublux a limb as needed.

*     *     *     *     *

Nothing like a quick partial dislocation to speed up the process of unwinding, except when you go the wrong way.  Not fun, it's only happened a few times tonight.

And yes, the egomanical imagination is allowed to run wild in those moments between pain and involuntary continued attempts to right wrongs.  I think, "Wouldn't it be cool if I finished tonight."

Of course, I have this thought every night, but the holidays and birthdays and numerologically interesting dates always make me push just a little bit more than I otherwise would.

*     *     *     *     *

I wouldn't mind the daydreaming.  I used to do it to endure, after all.  Yet, now, it usually interferes with focus and actually slows my progress.  I can't come anywhere near the Mindfulness techniques of meditation I used to be able to do.  I'm fried. 

Although, in truth, sometimes I start exercising and adjusting and two hours go by and I haven't had more than a few thoughts I can remember.  So, perhaps I'm doing a better job of meditating.  That, or my memory is shot, too.

What was I writing about?

A Backup Date Back Update

I really wish I could articulate what I accomplished about a half hour before I sat to start writing this, but I know I cannot in the detail I would like.  Instead, I'll try to write out what I identified while trying to do the latest adjustment.

 - Both hip sockets are twisted out of alignment in the same direction such as to (a) cause the sensation of needing to twist in alternate directions, and (b) result in my right side of my core feeling as if it needed to be allowed to lift upwards, the left side downwards.

 - My lower spine's resting position feels as though it is too far back, as if the proper resting position would have my pelvis pushed further forward.  This may not actually be the spine that needs to move (or move much), as it could be the surrounding muscles or the angle of the hips from a pelvic thrust which becomes more aligned.

 - With lower spine pushed forwards, a backwards arch aids in finding muscle groups in need of alignment going from the core to points behind, in front, and seemingly within (a knot?) my right shoulder.

 - Current successful adjustments of the muscles tangling the right shoulder are linked very much to my chest's position, which I believe, at rest, is arched far too far backwards.

 - The at rest chest position, arched too far backwards, results in lungs NOT holding a proper resting volume of air.  The lungs are expanded, possibly a substantial amount more than one should at rest (at normal exhale), allowing a significant exhale when my back and shoulders are in a position I believe is much closer to their proper resting position.

This may explain a few things, like my inordinate breath capacity, even during times of constricted lungs needing Albuterol, where I could still make a breath gauge meter slap against the end of the measurement slide.  It may also be linked to the exhale/sigh/"ah" sound I used to make unknowingly as a youth, which I made after nearly any statement and was teased for as long as I can remember.

 - I believe muscles tangled around my right rib cage are responsible for the pushed out of position resting location of my chest and lungs.

*     *     *     *     *

Well, I made great progress in altering the resting position of my chest.  By the still kinked nature of my right shoulder, I believe I still have work to do, which also results in changes everywhere listed above, hopefully towards their proper positions (or maybe out of position in order to unlock a kink).

The most notable change afterwards was a clear improvement of my leverage in pulling my garbage cans out to the curb.  The sensation was overwhelmingly noticeable, especially with the heavy yard waste can.

*     *     *     *     *

As the above points imply, the number of points in needs of coordinated movement for a successful adjustment is rather complicated, and thus, hard to explain.

And yet, the sensations are becoming much easier to accomplish than ever.  It is still a challenge to get all needed done at the same time (forget one, and the "adjustment" results in something more like a stripped thread than an actual change in positions), but my successes create sensations of significant change from my jaw/face/neck down through my core to my hips and even then through the legs resulting in ankle changes (and even foot pad alterations).

Three cheers for progress.

No doubt, however, I'll know pain and/or dizziness later this evening as a result.

I'm Back, and Winter Is Coming with Me

I have so much I could try to explain.

The muscle development in my back, touched upon earlier, has continued at a rate which feels exponential.

One true positive occurred while meeting with my Rhuematologist.  I described the two portions of muscle I was becoming able of flexing in my lower back, one on each side of my spine, and she matter of factly stated in a 'continue, please' type tone, "as it should."

I nearly broke down in tears.

Let me be clear.  I have been as close to certain as one can be that I have been doing something right all these years.  I have been as close to certain as one can be that this latest muscle development in my lower back was right.  Yet, I did not know it was right.

I finally have some measure of confirmation.

*     *     *     *     *

This does not at all mean things have been rosy.  I am a mess.

The muscle development in my lower back has created slack (for lack of a better word) in both shoulders and hips.  It has lead to changes in my jaw, head, and face that I cannot keep up with.  Dizziness and ear aches are commonplace.  My swallowing difficulties reappear worse than ever for a day or two, then vanish entirely.

And it is starting to get cold . . . .

*     *     *     *     *

I am genuinely fearful of the months ahead.  When I do not continue to strengthen everywhere, parts get behind, things get very difficult, and I become riddled with pain and discomfort.

The colder it gets, the more difficult it is to relax and/or identify muscle groups needing work.

This is to say, when not cold, I can meditate my way from flexing these "new to me" back muscles to where they extend to by connections, my core, my limbs, my neck, even my groin.  Cold, I'm lucky to extend and work one area.  Others go unidentified, creating more unbalance, more . . . difficulties.

This is on top of just plain miserable physical conditions as the temperature drops.  Sleep becomes near impossible.

*     *     *     *     *

At the end of last Winter, I hoped I would not go through another while still adjusting.  It was a miserable experience.  Now, I face one with much more significant adjustments happening almost daily.

This will be bad, and I am having a hard time knowing it is on the horizon.

Baseball Fanology (an old post)

I have not been writing much.  That and my discovery that an old post I put on McCovey Chronicles a few years back is no longer available has made me put an old copy of this up here, just to keep adrift.

On the personal front, the changes are getting rather insane, which goes toward my being unable to write much.  I hope to get an update of sorts written at some point.  Anyway, here is some baseball fanology.

*     *     *     *     *

The following is a lighthearted attempt to describe different types of baseball fans as if they could be categorized into Jungian Archetypes.  Baseball fans vary.  All are unique, like snowflakes, or those weird cross breed dogs where they staple Poodle DNA to a "real" breed hoping for a "real" breed that doesn't shed - like the aussiepoo.  Let's stuff everyone into  little boxes anyways.

[To the Poodle owners I have irritated by suggesting their dogs are not of a "real" breed, relax.  I'm going piss off everyone by the end of this post.]

Any similarity to persons living or dead is no accident at all.

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The Fair Weather Fan

An individual of little to no moral value, the Fair Weather Fan (hereafter, the FWF), is the single most common obstacle towards the enjoyment of baseball.  They aspire to associate themselves with winners in a desperate attempt to avoid their own shortcomings.  The seek only euphoria and expect instant gratification.  Most care only for home runs.  Pitching and defense is thought of as time to use the restroom, visit concessions, or make phone calls.

The FWF can often be located when sitting in lower box seats, usually attempting to wave to friends while talking on a cell phone in the background of the televised side view of a players' at bat.

The FWF changes "allegiances" for teams depending on the latest win streaks.  Their closets contain gear from multiple teams.  When asked how long they have followed their current team of choice, a FWF will always provide the defensible qualification "as long as I can remember" before providing a tenuously suspect justification.  Common justifications include: born in [city of team], born near [city of team], lived in [city of team], lived near [city of team], visited and liked [city of team], once drove through [city of team], has a relative who was born in, born near, lived in, lived near, visited and liked, or drove through [city of team], and of course, likes the team colors.

Famous Fair Weather Fans:  Carrot Top, Gary Radnich, Meg Witman, Sylvester the Cat, Zsa Zsa Gabor. 

The Weather Vane Fan

A common fan type.  The Weather Vane Fan (hereafter, the WVF) who's opinions are swayed by the recent events of their team.  The amount their opinions sway varies from WVF to WVF, as does the significance of the events which can cause the sway.  The extreme WVFs are borderline schizophrenics, going from complete confidence to utter depression with each pitch.  Most find their opinions subliminally affected by the last win, loss, or streak.  Other WVFs find their attitudes alter over longer periods, usually defined by eras appropriately labeled according to the positive or negative vibes the WVF has with a given individual (the Sabean era, the Bochy era, the Posey era, etc.)

To some extent, 92.7% of all fans fall within this archetype.

The Optimist

Not the rarest of fans, but you have a better chance of of being struck by lightning than being a true optimist, unless you are also a Yankee fan.  [Money can't by love, but can buy optimism by the barrel.]  Still, the haves and have nots of mlb, on the heels of the steroids era, have the true optimist close to being recognized federally as an endangered species. 

Technically, there is no time requirement towards fan categorization, so there are always plenty of optimists among the newer baseball fans.  This number drops dramatically with every year of being a fan, however, until year 7.  After following baseball for seven years, anyone who can still be optimistic regardless of their team's roster is going to be an optimist for life.

If one approaches the characteristics of optimism rationally, there can only be one conclusion.  The optimist is ignorant.  There can be no other explanation for his bliss-like naiveté.

Famous Optimists:  Brittany Spears, Felipe Alou, George W. Bush, Mychael Urban, Peter McGowan. 

 The Doomsayer

 It used to be difficult to find a Doomsayer.  People who actually epitomized all that is pessimistic did not speak up as often as they would have liked for fear of losing their few friends.  Then, Al Gore invented the internet.  The Doomsayer had soap box to scream from while protected in the shadow of anonymity.  Countless quiet, seemingly polite individuals would come home from their work day, sit at the computer, and morph into a virtual Golem.

Nothing short of a 10-0 perfect game can satisfy the Doomsayer, and even then, he will complain about the terrible announcers that ruined the televised event.  The Doomsayer is compelled to correct everyone, but only if it pushes an opinion further towards the negative.  Logic need not enter any equation, nor consistency.  All that matters to the Doomsayer is that the status quo is unacceptable, and this point is repeated ad nausium in every conceivable angle the Doomsayer can articulate.

Ironically, the never satisfied Doomsayer is quite often the only fan of a non-championship team to be content at the end of a season.  They rest comfortably under the not often logical conclusion that their team did not win the World Series because they were right.  The manager should have called the plays the doomsayer pointed out after the fact.  The GM should have made the trades he suggested (like Randy Winn for Albert Pujols) if the organization was serious about winning.

In the event his team actually wins the World Series, the Doomsayer conveniently changes tunes, becoming a Fair Weather Fan in the process, further lowering their value to a society.

Famous Doomsayers:  Glenn Beck, John, Nostradamus, and Tim Kawakami.

The Math Guy

The only thing separating the Math Guy (hereafter, the MG) from your average computer geek math genius is that the MG actually likes sports.  Some even play.

The MG knows far to much about statistics.  In their mind, baseball is a complicated version of blackjack, where the discovery of new data to incorporate into a statistical analysis is tantamount to card counting.  The MG really should be counting cards at a blackjack table instead, but they are usually gifted enough at computers or some other such nerdy enterprise as to not need to worry about money.  An MG is most comfortable talking to other MGs who understand their Saber metric terms.  They often consider non-MGs to be "missing the point," or, "not even watching the same game."

The MG, however, rarely delves into non-numerical aspects of a team.  Club house chemistry is a concept they know exists, but do not really understand.  This is why the MG is always a male.  Women, even mathematically gifted women, have emotional depth sufficient to understand the complexities and the necessity of interpersonal relationships.

The MG rarely has a girlfriend, though they are married for their money.

Famous Math Guys:  Theo Epstein.  Those guys at Fangraphs.

The Know-It-All

While the Know-It-All is more of adjective to add on to a classic fan archetype (like the "Know-It-All Weather Vane Fan" or the "Know-It-All Doomsayer"), they are worthy of their own archetypal classifications nonetheless, especially as they are experienced in greater numbers and far greater frequency the longer one remains on-line.  They must, however, be broken down into sub-categories.

A.  The True Know-It-All (aka The Know-It-All)

The rarest of all fans.  The Know-It-All (hereafter, the KIA) is to be both honored and pitied.  The KIA lives baseball.  The KIA spends nearly all waking moments thinking about baseball, reading articles, studying scouting reports, and analyzing statistics.  The knowledge within their mind is incalculable.  They rarely offer their opinion without clearly stating so.  That which is fact, they know as fact, and they keep it separate from any statements of opinion which could be susceptible to error.  The KIA must be honored given their rarity and the amount of accurate information they can impart during a discussion.  However, they must also be pitied for having no life outside of their obsession for baseball.

The discovery of a KIA is incredibly difficult, especially since the advent of the internet, which provides an Almost-But-Not-Quite-A-Know-It-All or even a clever Nowhere-Near-Know-It-All (both discussed below) the ability to appear knowledgeable.  Absent personal knowledge or extensive reputational evidence, one should never label anyone a KIA.  To do so would significantly raise the likelihood of finding one's own self labeled a Nowhere-Near-Know-It-All.

Famous Know-It-Alls:  Peter Gammons.

B.  The Almost-But-Not-Quite-A-Know-It-All (aka The Wanabe)

The simplest definition of an Almost-But-Not-Quite-A-Know-It-All (hereafter, the Wanabe) is an individual who believes he is a KIA.  The Wanabe is completely unaware of the most basic of KIA principles - "You never know enough."  On the contrary, the Wanabe is quite content with the mistaken presumption that they already know everything they need to know, and that any unfamiliar situation can be easily figured out through their omniscience.

Make no mistake, the Wanabe is a knowledgeable individual, just not nearly as knowledgeable they believe.  As one finds with the Doomsayer, "I told you so," is a common utterance of the Wannabe.  This is because all Doomsayers are Wannabes by definition, at least until their team actually wins it all and they transform into a Fair Weather Fan, who, by default, are no longer acknowledged to know anything whatsoever.

And while every Doomsayer is a Wanabe, the Wanabe can be any type of fan.  Sadly, the internet allows the Wanabe an audience of Optimists and Fair Weather Fans which he can pontificate to under the delusion of KIA status, usually creating Wanabe Optimists and Wanabe Fair Weather Fans in the process.  One need only turn on a radio or read a published article to find the work of such Wanabes, though they are by no means limited to professional writers. 

Just about anyone who expresses an opinion is a Wanabe to some extent.  Those with considerable knowledge yet still susceptible to pride are Greater Wanabes (GW).  Those with limited knowledge are Lesser Wanabes (LW).  The more one learns about baseball, the more individuals you believed to be Greater Wanabes become Lesser Wanabes with every new bit of knowledge you attain. 

Famous Almost-But-Not-Quite-A-Know-It-Alls:   Buster Olney (GW) and Bob Costas (LW).

C.  The Nowhere-Near-Know-It-All (aka The Idiot)

The Idiot, or Nowhere-Near-Know-It-All, is identical to the Wanabe in their mistaken self assessment, only their actual baseball knowledge is so low as to be undeserving of Lesser Wanabe categorization.  This is no small distinction.  The acceptable amount of knowledge for a Lesser Wanabe classification is quite minimal, knowing a mere 40% or one's favorite team's roster is usually sufficient.  Outright stupidity spoken with arrogance is required to be an Idiot.  For example, an Idiot may confidently proclaim the mistaken belief that the rules of school yard kickball, like do-overs or asking the pitcher for baby-bouncies, apply to mlb.

In person, these individuals can often be identified before uttering a single word, by scent, having likely soiled themselves by 10 O'clock in the morning.  Occasionally, they manage to masquerade as Lesser Wanabes, if only momentarily, by cutting and pasting other people's opinions on the internet or by the reading of prepared statements from behind a podium or on the radio.  Never fear.  Their true selves always surface.

There is really no excuse for them.  There is no legitimate justification for their continued existence.  Yet, they always manage to find themselves in positions of power or substantial influence.  Murphy's Law.

Famous Nowhere-Near-Know-It-Alls:  Bob Fitzgerald, Bud Selig, and Joe Buck.

The Dodger Fan

Originally believed by most Cognitive Psychologists to be the result of a birth defect linked to chromosomal damage from smog inhalation, the consensus today is that the syndrome is learned rather than innate.  Evidence suggests that the absent minded masses of Los Angeles turn to the Dodgers after their original entertainment of choice is no longer available, much as a starving vagrant will root through animal feces hoping for undigested matter which can still provide sustenance. 

Some of the more convincing evidence stems from the significant rise in the number of Dodger Fans following the cancellation of some of history's worst television programs.  Some of the largest spikes in fan attendance ever recorded in mlb history for a single team:  1971 Dodgers, following the cancellation of Petticoat Junction, 1981 Dodgers, following the cancellation of the Three's Company spinoff The Ropers, and most recently, in 2008, following the cancellation of ABC's Cavemen.  Rumors have it that, currently, both sides of the McCort's divorce proceedings are stalling in attempts to determine the future boost in team value following the inevitable failure and cancellation of American Idol.

Little is really known about The Dodger Fan as those who have attempted to study them invariably go insane or commit suicide.  What little is known has been deduced from the notes of the fallen.  For the safety of the reader, their attributes must not be discussed in any detail.  It should go without saying that Dodger Fans should be avoided at all costs.  Extended exposure to even the youngest of Dodger fans has been known to cause dizziness, light-headedness, head-ache, stomach ache, nausea, bulimia, diabetes, bleeding of the eyes and/or ears, skin cancer, tuberculosis, syphilis, aneurysm, heart attack, rectal leakage, and in some cases, leprosy.  Exposure to a long time Dodger fan is believed to be the only known cause of spontaneous combustion.

 

My Journey West

While I continue to struggle trying to find a way to describe not only what I am feeling but what it means, I have come up with a decent analogy as to what the experience of the last ten years have been like.

First, I acknowledge my presuption that what I am doing can/will make me better.  But let's not dwell on such a trivial matter (as I blush a little from embarrassment, knowing just how great the odds are that I may be wrong).

*     *     *     *     *

Let's pretend I am on the East Coast, and I know only two things, things we shall presume are true:

1) If I get to the West Coast, all will be well, and
2) Between me and the West Coast lies the Rocky Mountains, a very difficult impediment.

*     *     *     *     *

Now, take note of what I do not know.

1) I do not know about the Appalachians or the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
2) I do not know about rivers.
3) I do not know about long stretches of plains without water.
4) I do not know how far away the West Coast is, nor do I know where the daunting Rocky Mountains are.

*     *     *     *     *

All I have is a compass and the knowledge that if I keep going West, I can be free.

[In case you don't spot a portion of the comparison right off.  My "compass" is the knowledge that may changes are taking me West.  I know West by feel.  For this metaphor/analogy it's a real compass.]

*     *     *     *     *

Now, add that I am walking and that I am barefoot and that my feet bleed often.  Let's say I suffer from ankle fissures.  Walking across the room can be an ordeal, and I am trying to cross a continent.

*     *     *     *     *

There you have it.  That is what it is like.

Consider that I have now been walking a very long time.

Early on, every pass I reached in the Appalachians, I was certain was the highest apex of the Rocky Mountains.  I'd thought the hardest part was over, time and again, not knowing I had barely begun.

Now, I am exhausted, still not knowing if I have crossed the Rockies. 

For all I know, I am still in the East, or perhaps I am in the foothills or the California Central Valley, ever so close to reaching the coast.

All I can do is keep moving west.

Another Puzzle Piece

Further documentation.  This is more because I hurt to much to try to write it longhand in my journal than that I had some desire to post it here.

*     *     *    *     *

The adjustments continue.  The most notable being a segment of meat/muscle climbing up my back.

It is such that I can visualize a short segment rising from just below the shoulder blades to just above them, and it seems that I can do it. 

The change doesn't remain, however.  It is just the beginning of strengthening the muscles involved.

While swimming, this had a tremendous effect upon my freestyle.  It freed up the arms a great deal, and this is with the newly freed legs from only days ago.  One objective fact worth noting is that I could breathe on either side with easy in this posture.  I've never been able to take a functional breath over my left shoulder while swimming freestyle until just yesterday.

Wow.  Just wow.

*     *     *     *     *

Of course, such progress has come with a cost.

The adjustments around the shoulder have ridden waves both down through the hips and up through the jaw and face, even around the eyes.  Some dizziness returned for a while.

But the jaw has become swollen, again, just off, just to the side of where my old "ear infections" kept reoccurring.

And now I am certain -

At least to some extent, the vast majority of my "ear infections" in the past 2-3 years, those times when severe swelling had closed the ear canal and caused severe pain, those times where the doctors have looked in my ear, been unable to see because of a closed canal, and quickly prescribed antibiotics and ear drops, many of these were not really about the ear canal.

The ear canal was collateral damage.  The joints and ligaments around my jaw, so loose already, tweak the neck and ear, causing aggravation to lymph nodes, resulting in swelling that eventually includes the ear canal.

Now, the question comes to mind whether or not the ear infections of my youth, too, were actually related more to my perversion than to water drying out within the ear.

Flap Them Wings

Some big changes lately.

Extreme release of the lower back has freed my legs such that I can kick flutter kicks doing freestyle which do not take much effort at all.  It's amazing how much less tension exists.  It still takes a while to get back to this point, but it's been easier to reach each day.

Another offshoot, trying to apply the same relaxation and elongation of the lower back while running (which is much more difficult), resulted in the ability to run with a focus on the left foot and leg, almost as if left handed.  This, in turn, freed deep knots around the right shoulder.

Last, at least last remembered, is a deep stitch in my right side that I am finding room to work with.  It is possibly the initial tweak, as it is clearly a tangle of sorts from the right shoulder (the one dad pulled out) all the way into my core on the right hand side.  I am not sure I have found how to release it, but I have at least clearly identified it, the first important step.

On to the new coincidence, . . .

*     *     *     *     *

I'll keep it short as I need to be on my way to the pool, but-

Things advancing so much, so quickly, and the latest focus on both shoulders gave me the creeps, especially since it seems to possibly be the final focus needed, just discovered this morning.

Elongating the torso, trying to find the top of the shoulders (which on the right side, what should be on top feels buckled, cramped toward the back of the shoulder near the arm pit), I started oscillating both arms. 

Not in a back and forth, pendulum type movement, mind you, I did it much more fluidly.  Finding what I hope is the (real) top point, elongating beneath it, and then allowing the upper torso to push it forward and backward.  The top going back and forth, what is under it follows, slightly trailing, then past the end point of the "top" portion of the shoulder while the "top" has started back the other way.

I knew immediately this was going to be very helpful, my arms moving like a slo-mo video of bird wings.

Then, it hit me.  It's like Butterfly wings.  Coincidence?

*     *     *     *     *

When my kid was itty bitty, I'd do a silly thing with her.  Aiding, no pretty much doing it to her, I'd flap her arms up and down while saying, "Flap your wings and you might fly.  Flap your wings and you might fly."  We'd both laugh.

Those words came back at me with a vengence this morning.

I'm flapping.