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Thursday, October 6, 2011

Slow down, you move too fast . . .

In the big rush to get all the artwork done for deadline—plus all the other stuff too numerous to mention—it has been a familiar sight to see me hunkered over my computer and suddenly leap up and whip around the house to get this or that. Have you ever seen those little red squirrels that seem intrinsically on edge or chronically pissed off? The ones that seem like an unholy cross between a chipmunk and a squirrel? The ones that Norman Liota calls a squipmunk? Anyway, at my most intense, I believe I act like one of them. Maybe I was one in a former life.

Anyhow, the other day I leapt up from my desk, hyper-extended my leg and pulled a little muscle/tendon/ligament thingy on the inside of my right knee. It was a sharp twinge that I had never felt before. Not nice. I rubbed it and carried on, figuring it would sort itself out. But it didn't. If I'm not very careful when I walk, it re-injures itself—a real piss-off, because I have a lot to do and I just want to plow forward. But I can't.

As I got ready for a gig this evening, I was thinking, "What's the message?" Then I noticed that the only way I could deal with this thing is to walk normally, but very slowly. Very, verrry slowwww motion. Of course, the bloody message is, "SLOW DOWN!" I hurt it moving too fast, and the only way it will heal is if I slow down. And there is no bargaining with this thing. 

So there you have it. I have to accept that what will get done will get done and what won't, won't. Slow down, Sammy, s l o w   d   o    w    n    .     .       . 

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