I've been mistaken for a woman three times in the last week.

Usually, I hear an "Excuse me, Miss" or "What will you ladies be having today?" or "Mam, you forgot your wallet" and then I sigh and prepare to turn around, knowing the crestfallen embarrassment that will follow and all the apologies that will lurch forth.

Maybe I just should accept the fact that I look like a woman from behind. After all, it's what drshorn has been whispering in my ear for the last few years.

( No really, please continue... )

You may have noticed a distinct lack of words from this wolfish one, and with good reason. Last Monday night I began to develop what would turn into a major back pain event, an event that is still in some ways dragging itself out. The culprit, I suspect, is a pinched nerve and some resulting muscular spasms that were brought on by a combination of neglect and failure to accept that I am not 18 years old and can't expect myself to heal and forgive quickly.

( Ow )

Are you sleeping... are you sleeping... brother William... brother William?

No I am not sleeping. I wish that I was sleeping. Have to post. Have to post.

This sick, man does it linger. Now my body is racked in coughing and just oh so very sleepy. I plan to do nothing this weekend but lay and sleep and read and write and sleep more. I'm hoping I can kick this thing by Monday and return to some semblance of health by next week.

Work? Don't ask.

Still, being sick means that the earth continues to turn. This is Imbolc, one of the most holy for me, and I've celebrated it by launching blackwingedboy.

The rules of the new journal are simple. This is a place for me to write in the universe that I see and experience and live in every day, the one that holds my spirit and my belief. You, of course, can choose to believe anything you'd like to after reading. The entries won't all be complete stories or scenes. The entries will sometimes, maybe very often, not make much sense past a general abstraction. The entries will never be about me, unless I play some cameo part in them. The entries may come daily or monthly, or randomly as they wish to. They may be very flowy or sparse and staccato, or poetry, or pictures. I am not in control of the entries. I just do what they want.

I've enabled commenting, but I'm not enabling myself to respond to comments. That's because that journal is not of me, nor do I want it to be of me. It's my little tribute to the most important thing in my life, on a night where it shines brightly.

And it's the launch of the first of my yearly projects.

So, happy Imbolc. Think good thoughts of me and those you know who are sick or having a hard time of things this month. We promise to do the same for you.

Beannacht Leat.

Greetings, readers.

This journal is officially on haitus while our sick boy tries to get over his sick. He's worse today and thus joins the ranks of all the barely functional walking wounded in the world of the germ-rich winter.

We'll be back after these death groans.

Well, hanging around all the sickies in this city, in temperatures that swing from middle 50's to low 30's daily, in dry-head causing fake indoor heat... I guess it was inevitable. I woke up today with a scratchy throat, sniffly nose and body aches.

Luckily, through a series of occurences, my work emergencies were delayed this week, my social life for the next few nights is slim, and tonight was my grocery shopping night. Much orange juice, echinacea, cough drops and soup was purchased. Much low-energy activities (hello reading), self-care and sleep will ensue.

I'm disappointed. I wasn't ready for an energy dip at a time when my energy felt very high and vibrant. Tonight was the beginning of my exercise regime. But I'm going to let it do what it wants and focus only on allowing it to leave as soon as possible, surrounded of course by the need to continue working. Perhaps it's a good lead-up and last rest stop before February. Surely by Friday I'll be well again.

Bundle up, yo. Keep your fine selves warm.

Rule #1: Post every day.
Rule #2: No computer work after massage.

What's a boy to do!

Write something very quickly, post it and move on is what.

Tonight was massage with the lovely and talented monagrrl and the return to health of my arms and hands, which for the first time in three days don't hurt. This whole taking care of yourself actually works. This whole working while not being stressed thing so that you have good posture thing is something I need to explore.

We had a great conversation, as we always do, chatting wildly whilst strokes and elbows are applied to body parts. I rediscovered my plans to eat much fish this year that I cook myself, and somewhere along the way continued to get the message that I need to be doing something creatively, seriously, soonly. I think with Imbolc coming up fast, that the time is approaching to start sprouting.

Hopefully it won't be another leg.

I'll catch up on reading posts tomorrow, but for now, it's a sofa, TV, and animal crackers (Yes, mona, I did stop at 7-11 on the way home).

Quick, post before Rule #2 come back from peeing!