stick your… elbow… out

So first: the current phone-version of WordPress seems to be a little sticky when it comes to pushing out (scheduling) posts. I might’ve contributed pilot error on Tuesday (see Tuesday’s post), but with two stuck in three posts… I want to blame the tech.

That’s done.

Second, it’s been an eating kind of day. Like with the sleeping, got no clue. The half-reprieve of a late lunch (more on that) ended with a counterweight of eating twice my usual volume. (Not a surprise.) My second-breakfast sure did not go the distance there-!

Third, today has continued my streak of “I did what? Really?” with yet another streak of phone-video-game-playing that ranks up there with a three-tray package of Peeps for achieving that acidic blend of compulsion, distaste, and vague nausea.

Though the webinar I interrupted it with was pleasant.

my splinted middle finger, wrapped in Keflex tapeAnnnd I accomplished a decent slug of homework-reading in my 2ish hours at the minor emergency clinic. The collective best guess is that I popped a blood vessel between my index and middle knuckles Monday afternoon while showing off with a couple of back-bends/”wheel” poses. The resulting hematoma has made my right middle knuckle ache and hurt, enough that I asked My Sweetie about it. Well, not the pain. What do I care about a knuckle ache? Even one that makes me wince when I turn the doorknob? But the ever-more-visible swelling. Even I know to ask about swelling.
Thanks for the guidance—and the splint!—Nurse Practitioner Sandy!


So then I’m home again, sitting on the sofa playing Solitaire—a “free so ignore this ad screen” version.

But this ad catches my eye, and more importantly my ear, because I (and hundreds of thousands of my closest friends) know what Seth Godin‘s voice sounds like.

So I watch. He’s launching a blog-ish podcast called Akimbo. “I’m supposed to pigeonhole it. Put it in a box. Position it, tell you exactly what it’s going to be, put a bow around it. But I can’t do that for you. What I can tell you is that it’s just me…”


Well, dayum. Look at me over here, rocking it like Seth-!



I’m afraid!” said Zusha. “Because when I get to heaven, I know God’s not going to ask me ‘Why weren’t you more like Moses?’ or ‘Why weren’t you more like King David?’ But I’m afraid that God will ask ‘Zusha, why weren’t you more like Zusha?’ And then what will I say?!

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