rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Lousy Joints

My ISP gave me a busy signal for a couple of hours, so I couldn't get online. That's never happened before. I could have fired up Sluggo and used Juno, if only I'd been willing to let the room get cold enough, but I decided I'd rather stay warm. Thus, instead of going out and collecting more URLs, I just began pruning and rearranging those I already have stored away as Opera bookmarks. I barely made a dent in them. I've seen only the tiniest fraction of teh Internets, and yet it's way too much.

It looks more and more as though I'm going to have to go get my neck yanked on. Something is definitely out of place there. This is the worst time of year to get this done, too, as all my joints are stiffer in cold weather than they are when it's warm. But, when turning my head to quickly results in a sudden sharp pain, something needs to be done about it.

Pearl Harbor Day. The Hitler History channel will be running its usual marathon of related programs. TCM, however, is running a whole day of movies about Queens (the sort that reign, not the sort who hang out in gay bars.) They always used to run at least one or two WWII movies for the occasion. War must be less popular this year, for some reason.

Overcast this morning. I like the dimness of it, but I want the sun to emerge before late afternoon. Otherwise I'm apt to oversleep. That will make my neck even worse.

Still no mailstrom yet.

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Sixty-One

    Odd how I've slipped imperceptibly into this pattern of multiple short naps each day instead of one or two longer sleeps, and spend part of each…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Sixty

    Getting through the vague days with naps and snacks, not much caring that I'm not doing much, except for now and then scolding myself for being such…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Fifty-Nine

    A few hours comatosery and some things that might have been dreams or daydreams, and here I am again wanting to sleep more. For Thursday's lunch I…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.