Friday 3/7/25
Five in the AM. Wind is howling outside. An impressive "don't mess with me" wind.
Have had this pain in my midsection and some dull aches and am worried I have testicular cancer. I cannot deal with cancer on top of all else right now. I actually laid pretty low fitness-wise the last two days after running 5000 stairs each of the previous two days at City Hall and doing 150 push-ups each of those days with a three mile walk on Tuesday as well and some planks. I need to get back to it.
Had some mishaps with some cream--a Bengay CVS knock-off--that you use for muscle pain. Got out of the shower the other day, applied it right away, and I don't know if it was because I was just in the shower or I applied too much but a couple minutes later I was frantically trying to rub it off with a wet paper towel because it burned so bad.
Then last night I was putting some more on again--I wasn't just going to get rid of it--in a small quantity when I decided then would be a good time for a testicular self-check and then it was like I had set that part of me on fire because of the residue of the cream on my hand. Enter, again, the wet paper towel. Different wet paper towel. It's not like I keep a go-to wet paper towel.
A man came came over and introduced himself to me while I was running stairs. Said he sees me out there all the time, which is good, I think, because these are not my main stairs obviously and if someone is seeing you often on your back-up stairs that means you have your stairs well-covered. He asked how long I'd been doing this for and how old I was. Another guy greeted me with a big smile and asked if this was my workout. It's kind of rare that I encounter two friendly people on the same day.
Worked from midnight to eight in the AM Thursday morning on "Comes a Day, Comes a Man," "Hero of Mine," and "Finder of Views." The latter stands presently at 13,500 words. There is nothing like it in concept, form, execution. You could say--if you wanted--that the story is about a man with a piece of black construction paper and you wouldn't be saying an untruth.
A letter:
Twitter is the worst, tied for that spot with so many other things in this world at present, but I had to log back in after nearly a year of deactivation, or else my account would be erased--which doesn't mean anything, of course, so I'm not sure why I bothered--and I saw that your mother died. I'm uncertain what happened with you. We were friends, then you ghosted me. Then you returned, I expressed no ire despite said ghosting, and then you ghosted me again. Everyone has to decide the person they wish to be, and that's simply how many people now are. But leaving that aside, I always cared about you--I still do--and I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm sure that was so hard and probably still is. You appear to live in multiple countries and are married or something similar and your kids are doubtless doing all kinds of growing up faster than ever types of things, none of which changes how difficult and impactful such a loss can be. I just wanted you to know I saw that and it made me feel for you, and I hope a year later you're feeling more peace now and that you continue to do so moving forward.
