Another time we can hear about the woman whose hands open energy channels in the body. The woman who spent two hours on James and moved him from a mental state of depression and anguish to tentatively optimistic. That was on Friday. Yesterday he exercised in the gym for an hour, the first time since the latest surgery almost six months ago. It did not hurt as he had feared. He then jumped in the pool and splashed about for half an hour. He didn't drown.
Before the gym James got two solid hours of quiet. Writing time and he felt emptied afterwards. The one workout went as well as the other. Body and mind and spirit functioning as James has come to expect. Though not recently. James afraid those days of ableness lost. James embarrassed by the gusting of change, the unanticipated speed, his own bystander at his own crash. The sudden wreckage, the turned heads, the splatter and the screams. James the only observer of his sudden gradual demise. The weight of it.
So on this day James can leave those thoughts elsewhere. From coffee to computer to gym to pool and now watch him dance (a very loose interpretation of his awkward movements - what other word to use?) to loud pirated music on his computer, or, maybe it is loud pirate music on his computer - either way, he clearly doesn't give a damn.
Then a shave and an elongated shower, no concern with how much of the expensive as hell shampoo to use, several white shirts auditioned and rejected, the unexpected wrinkle, the too tight fit, eventually the winner, and then the auditioning of ties, the jacket and slacks choice obvious, and finally enter the celebratory shoes, the ones worn only when the mood is appropriately high. James will pay The Man today, but he will arrive looking as he feels.
Work work work. Calls, a visitor, emails, decisions, coffee pot banter, a lesson for a newb, an exchange of texts, a story for Nina, a flirtation, an appointment, paperwork. Four fifteen comes and James has had enough. He has grown unaccustomed to work and the fullness of his day now has him tired. Grocery store and home. Breakfast for dinner: pork chops, eggs over easy, whole grain toast, orange juice. Baseball on the television and some internets and so very drowsy. Off to bed by ten, asleep by ten oh five.
And yes, there is now a second M. She is unrelated to the first M, probably couldn't be much more different. Maybe another time details wills be given. The second M is only mentioned now because in the midst of James' busy day it was she, not the first M, who was texting him, and, with great urgency and emotion. Drama, they call it these days. Drama seems to have engulfed poor second M. Work drama and home drama. Fortunately, unlike James, she has no health or beauty drama - she is spectacularly good looking. A tiny package of soft hair and smiles and firm curves, almost like a doll. But a doll with dark brazen eyes and always moist lips. Come take me to lunch, James? Please come soon. Tell me you'll come soon.
And everywhere else was M.
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