Grand Mal

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence. - William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

What is there to say, when you can't decide what hurts more - your knees or your feelings.

The knees, after a few days of twitchyness but basically decent behavior, suddenly started to cause me the kind of pain where I'm whimpering with every pedal stroke, where one moment I am standing in the pedals and the next my left knee almost collapses. And the terrible part is, I have no idea why.

I've been cut off for physical therapy by my health insurance, because the middleman company it hired to save it money has deemed it medically unnecessary. Yeah, right. And the fact that my knee suddenly collapses while I am pedaling slowly and gently home means that there's nothing wrong?

ASSHOLES.

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. - More William Blake. Wise man, that Blake.

The cat has figured out that it's warm on top of the radiator, and so she sleeps there when the thing is on. I'm trying like hell to get these damned gloves finished so I can stop thinking about that boy. (Yeah, I know. But I'm going to try, because otherwise my body is going to fold back in upon itself and collapse into a black hole created by its own impassioned and frustrated and sad little vortex.)

Really, just ask Einstein.