Up and Down

I feel like I’m on a roller coaster (a ride I’ve always despised). One week, (or batch of days) is good. I walk farther than ever, am in no fucking pain and feel like tripping the light fantastic is within my almost immediate grasp. Then I wake with my brace feeling 500 pounds heavier than the night before—crossing my legs has, overnight, become an Olympic weightlifting event and all I really want is a good nap and some Indian food.

I’m thinking that much of this is tied to my emotional state. If I could’ve just remained bored on Monday all would be fine. Maybe.

Apparently, I’m blaming my poor dead father for croaking on me. What’s that you say? I’m being ridiculous, unfair AND have clearly slipped loose from the rock hard bonds of reality. Yeah, so? Also…fuck you! I’ll ditch reality if I wanna (petulant child much, D?). At least I’m not Ron Jeremy (of giant and violent custard chucker fame) or The Former Guy (known for his repulsive, grabby mini mushroom). Now, those two have serious real life evasion issues.

Having Bix break down, as though he was some common Donna doesn’t help. Hopefully, it’ll be a couple years before Bix gives his last gas economical breath. All the same, future cute cars are dancing in my bean.  

What do I want? First, it’s gotta be completely electric. Second, she needs to be adorably stylish. Third, inexpensive! This leaves one and only one choice but it’s a hunny. A two door MINI Cooper.

Conveniently, the joint where I bought Bix also sells electric two door MINIs. Yea! Possibly I can trade Bix in for a sweet discount on Zelda. Yes, I’ve already named her. Oh please, tell me, you  wouldn’t.

More good news on this roller coaster’s upswing, I’ve found another fine book—Early Riser by Jasper Fforde. This is the same dude who wrote the fabola Thursday Next series .

This one, Early Riser, is, from what I gleaned off the back cover, a mystery. A very strange one.

Every Winter, the human population hibernates.

During those bitterly cold four months, the nation is a snow-draped landscape of desolate loneliness, and devoid of human activity.

Well, not quite.
(source)

It’s not a comedy but it’s witty as hell and more than a little bit creepy. Fforde describes himself as an absurdist. True and it’s why I always pick up his books whenever I see them. Granted they’re rarely housed in Science Fiction and that’s the department where you’ll most often find me.

And he gave me a smile that looked as though it had come from a hastily-read handbook on cultivating personal charm.

Love this author's wit!

Last bit of upswing news, my back, arm and knee don’t hurt or hurt as much this morning. I’m gonna take it relatively easy today—attempt not to break anything else and shit. I’m definitely NOT keen on taking this ’58 Maderer back into the shop.