1.

I hurt my left shoulder yesterday dong straight leg jump throughs.  I kept swinging too far, sort of skidding into a landing, and trying to correct for that, which whacked soemthing in that shoulder…didn’t really feel it until this morning when I discovered that it aches to lift my arm.  Damn it.  I took today off of surys and vinyasa, just did some asana alone, which was very weird, and lame, like trying to knead cold bread dough or cement.  No vinyasa/surys = no heat = no mobility.  At the David Garrigues workshop in the dripping hot shala, I could feel for the first time the protective action of the hot room, could feel how much easier the practice was in some ways (while the heat itself is a challenge in other ways).  The yurt, 0n the other hand, was quite cold yesterday, probably 50 or 60 degrees at most, I was practicing in a sweater and a scarf, so that probably didn’t help—we don’t build fires this time of year because it’s plenty warm in the afternoons. I hope this is just a minor twinge, took me a year to get over the hamstring pull last year.

Getting injured always pisses me off.  So I’ve been harumphing and complaining all morning.

Hold that thought.

2.

So, yesterday in the car we were trying to get through some crazy traffic, plus the car was super hot, and this fucking fuck pulls out in front of me and I complain, “we’re trapped in a traffic nightmare hell!” I know, I know, I’m such a drama queen.  But really, there is a traffic/hot car hell realm, the Traffic Bardo, I’m sure of it.

But then the kids in the back, in unison and in perfect New Jersey accents, cry out, “What a fucking nightmare!” and I crack up so hard I have to pull over.

What, don’t you remember the indomitable Mona Lisa Vito, from “My Cousin Vinny” ?

If you haven’t seen it, you really must, it’s just wonderful.  Marisa Tomei won an Oscar for her role, and, obviously, a few choice lines have made it into our family lexicon.  Here is the entire line the kids were quoting from:

Mona Lisa Vito:  You know, this could be a sign of things to come. You win all your cases, but with somebody else’s help, right? You win case after case, and then afterwards you have to go up to somebody and you have to say, “thank you.” [pause]  Oh my god!  What a fucking nightmare!

I love her.

3.

And, listen, I’ve got to explain why my little word counter bar over there on the right hasn’t risen over 23,000 words in at least a week, maybe more.  SHAME right?  Only, maybe not.  It seems I have this process where I write a hundred pages (about 25,000 words or so) and then realize I’ve got something totally wrong, and have to go back and start all over.  It’s so stupid.  It’s so inefficient.  But there it is, I’ve done it on the last three novels, and while I thought I had a strategy for avoiding it this time, I was wrong.  So, honestly, I’m working every day on the new novel, but no, I’m not increasing the net word count because I’m rewriting the first 100 pages, just like I always do because I’m an idiot who takes 100 pages of crap to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Sigh.

So, anyway, just so you know I’m not a total slacker.  I am working!  Every day!  I’m just, you know, treading word-count water.  But these are better, new improved, extra spiffy words!

4.

Or, as Mona Lisa would say, Imagine you’re a deer. You’re prancing along, you get thirsty, you spot a little brook, you put your little deer lips down to the cool clear water… BAM! A fuckin bullet rips off part of your head! Your brains are laying on the ground in little bloody pieces! Now I ask ya. Would you give a fuck what kind of pants the son of a bitch who shot you was wearing?

In other words, quit putting your focus on the wrong thing, Lassiter. It’s not the jump-through, the bad traffic, or the word count that matters.  It’s being kind to my body, laughing with my funny kids, and writing a good novel in the end.

I’m always getting this wrong, which is why I’m grumpy so much of the time.

Fuck.  I hate fucking life lessons.  I just want to be a grumpy bitch sometimes!  With a hurt shoulder! I just want the pleasure of some high quality of self-pity sometimes!  For god’s sake, somebody give me some chocolate.

 

2 Responses to the antidote to the grumps

  1. Shannon says:

    If I was close I would run right over with some Ritters Sport Alpine Milk Chocolate. :) Well maybe hobble over. Right there with you with my bad back problem :D

  2. maya says:

    You know, I’ve always wondered why that Ritters bar is called a “sport” bar. Is it the square shape that is supposed to be sporty? What the heck does chocolate have to do with sport? I would think they were sort of natural opposites. Alpine, because of some connection to Switzerland? Is it made in Switzerland? Are the Swiss more sporty? When they’re making chocolate? We’ll probably never know.
    Sorry you hurt your back.

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