Physical and Mental

Today, I’m using this blog as a journal. On my agenda this morning is a visit to my doctor for my annual physical, then a visit to Little Rock this afternoon with a friend. The first activity is routine. The physical began with yesterday morning’s trek to the doctor’s office for a blood draw for lab work. The technician stabbed my left arm and withdrew three vials of blood which I assume has, by now, been subjected to testing, measurement, evaluation, and reporting. I will learn the results of those assessments when I visit today, assuming the work has, in fact, been done.

The afternoon visit was prompted by an item my wife noticed in a liquor store brochure, announcing the store’s planned tasting of three very high-end and expensive bourbons. Inasmuch as I tend not to buy very high-end and expensive bourbons, attending this tasting may be one of the only opportunities I’ll have to sample them. So, I asked a friend if he’d like to join me (my wife opted out, in favor of an unrelated wine tasting this evening.). I was not invited to the wine tasting, so I’ll stay home and pout.

It’s just three hours until my annual physical begins. Last year, I asserted to my doctor that I’d be slimmer, lighter, and more muscular when I see him for this year’s physical. I lied. It was an unintentional lie. I had planned on accomplishing the aim of being slimmer, lighter, and more muscular. But results follow action. Different results follow inaction. The inaction, then, can be blamed for my failure to achieve the desired results. See what I just did? I blamed inaction, not myself, for the deficiency. That is a convenient, but deplorable, way to avoid taking responsibility for ones own decisions, lack of discipline, and outright laziness. The first step is solving  problem is admitting to the problem. I’ve taken that step multiple times, so I should have traveled quite the distance by now.

Actually, I am a little slimmer, a little lighter, and arguably a shade more muscular than last year. So the lie isn’t as brazen as I made it out to be in the first paragraph. My modest improvement, though, does not meet the standard I set for myself. I’m working on meeting that standard.

Earlier this week, during my sculpture class, I inquired as to whether anyone knew of a good ceramics kiln for sale. No one did. But I’m exploring, again. I’d like to be able to do both bisque firing and glaze firing right here at my house, instead of driving all the way to the National Park College campus. I’m still not absolutely certain I want to spend the money necessary to have a kiln, because I’m not sure my hobby and my low-level skill warrants such an investment. Wait, I referred to it as an investment. Let me be clear, it’s not an investment; it’s an expense. But it’s worth exploring, nonetheless. Or, at least, I think it is.

Now, let’s see if I can turn this little journal on its head and write a bit more creatively.

When I awoke this morning a few minutes before four, I crept out of the bedroom in silence, doing my best not to disturb my sleeping wife.  Bright light from the full moon through the wall of windows on one side and the artificial light of a street lamp entering the half-moon window above the front entryway on the other bathed the living room. Outside the wall of windows, the deck and chairs and table looked as if a spotlight shone on them. Beyond them, the empty air was black, except for trees in the distance, visible as dim echoes of night. Dozens of bright stars dotted the patch of clear sky I could see when I walked outside. But the moon’s light washed away the light of millions more, stars I sometimes can  see when the moon in is hiding.  The air outside was slightly cool but heavy, as if struggling to shed moisture without the benefit of rain. The noises of cicadas and crickets and frogs were not as pronounced as they are some nights and early mornings, but their sounds most assuredly announced the presence of the creatures in the forest of trees surrounding the house.

Some mornings, and this is one of them, my creative juices want to be let out of their pouches but they’re not strong enough to break through the impermeable fabric that’s holding them. I’ve learned that I must accept their weakness at such times and satisfy myself to drink coffee and expose myself to the world around me through the internet, which is what I will now do.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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