Goals

At age 71, Fred Astaire dances like this at the Academy Awards.  I'm going on two months with no dancing, no yoga, no walking to work... pretty miserable.  But watching this gives me hope.  I mean, surely with all the practice this guy had to do over his decades of performing, he sustained some injuries, right?  and here he is, 71 years old.  Damn.

The full set-up for the routine is here if you're curious. Start about 3 minutes in.:

Alright, well, back to nursing my fever from the mastitis.  Because the fun never ends.  I miss writing, too.  And sleep.

Please let me get my life back soon.

If this fever doesn't break and I stay home tomorrow, the plan is to write a few affirming notes to mail to some awesome folks in my life.  People who probably don't even know how awesome I think they are.  And I know that in my fever delirium, at least writing those notes will make me feel better.  Moe has awaken in my arms and petting my face with his sweet, soft baby hands while I type.  The mastitis is his fault, but I love him as much as ever.

I potently disagree with the belief that love is suffering.  Love, real love, overpowers suffering.  And that is how I'm able to sit here and nurse this toothy beast baby knowing he will probably bite me again (aaugh!  he did!  just now!  graahhhhh! augh ahhhh owie!!!!!) and I hate it and it hurts but I love him so much I'm willing to do it.  Love changes suffering.  

There are more thoughts here, but not to share tonight.  Okay, ice pack for the foot, hot pack for the boob, and fetal position for the back and let's break this fever.