pain management

you send me the blue stones. thank you ❤️ 

It's immediate, the relief of two Aleve, three instances of hot water from that fixed shower beating ever so perfectly on my left loin, an injection of Toradol and the ending of Mr. Robot. Since then there has been The Huberman Lab, one hundred twenty-eight ounces of room temperature water, thirty-three of those shot up with the juice of an entire juicy lemon, and two hours plus six hours equaling eight hours of sleep. The goal is to get this stone out of my body and it's nearing the end of it's journey. The kidney is not so far away. I just have to push it and deal with the pain.

"Do you want to catch it?" He asks.

"No. I just want it out," I say.

"How did you get a kidney stone?" She asks.

"I don't know." 

I haven't exercised since the Goggins Challenge. That could have something to do with it. In order to manage my pain I have to train which means I have to manage my pain in order to train. Train for what? Train for life, goofy.

Today I am grateful for reason and purpose and help and plenty of water and plenty of lemons and that show ohmygosh. Christian Slater is drinking the Vanna White juice. Those two are doing something and Malek will never be anyone else for me. He will always be Elliot, and Chaikin will always be Darlene. Those writers drew beautiful characters, and I have to get back to training. Dang.

Also, a book to share with one of my favorite people.

Is it appropriate to give a seventeen year old a book you haven't read by one of your favorite writers and suggest that said teenager may possibly want to have a study about how McCarthy writes and the lives of his characters who we find in All the Pretty Horses? Should we, could we force someone to attend an informal book club disguised by the wrapping of a birthday present?

I'm saying yes and I think she will read it with me. We'll see.