Ran 3000 stairs today.
Came up with some essay ideas: one on football, another on the Pogues, another on Diamond Kings, which was a series within the yearly baseball card series made by a company called Donruss. Unlike the regular cards, they were paintings executed as cards. I have always had this fascination with them.
I may have another new book finished this week. Or two. I don't know yet.
I learned today that half of adult Americans do not get a flu shot. We're selectively concerned. We pick and choose based upon what is in front of our faces. Later you'll see COVID be treated the same way--with nonchalance. No one will care about it. Won't get away, but it will be met with apathy. It'll kill the vulnerable, same as the flu. The same people I see walking around now with masks on--still--as I run the stairs will be people who go years without thinking about COVID, and who don't get COVID shots in the future, like they may well not get flu shots now. I'm Mr. Homeopathy/Zulu/Stairs when it comes to health, but I get the flu shot every year. I've been sick once, I believe, in fifteen years. Or sick enough to stop me. That was, of course, the pneumonia of 2016, which, ironically, I got right after getting a flu shot. Got it early that year. I wait later now. Then I make sure I work out after getting the shot, because it has made me sick in the past--somewhat sick--and I find that if I run stairs right after, then that's less likely. Drives out the poison! And the good stuff stays in.
Watched the second season of All Creatures Great and Small. It's just about my favorite show. Ever! Wonderful Christmas episode. I was scared that Tricki Woo wasn't going to make it, but he pulled through.
Sometimes I see a writer's work, and I find myself asking, "Is there anything you can write about beyond skin color?" and the answer, every time, is no. Racify racify racify. Imagine that? All you could write on was the color of people's skin? You know nothing. You have nothing to offer. You complain about racism, but race is your entire business. You're not smart. You're not funny. You're not an expert on anything. You're not some master storyteller. You have no insight into the human condition, answers to the mysteries of life. You just write about skin color. You get awarded. Speaking engagements. Grants. Book deals. But if the supreme power in the universe came to you and offered you the choice for there to be nothing but equity, for the world to be truly colorblind, and for people to fail or succeed based on their merits, you, the racifier, the hypocrite, would say, "Hell no!" because otherwise what would you write about if skin color was off the table? I know so many people like this. A lot of what is called racism in today's society is because of these people and the subterfuge of their business, as such.
Was talking to someone yesterday about my non-drinking. The days and the weeks don't mean anything to anyone, like when I say it's been 298 weeks. You have to put it in years. And I said I'm coming up on six years, but I don't like to say that, and to amuse myself I start doing recovery-speak, and say, "Because you should never presume a day of sobriety," or, "Don't assume the day, earn the day." Pretty good, right? Then I said that I can't take credit for those sayings, I got them from my sponsor. And because the person talking to me has known me for my entire life, they're like, what? You don't have a sponsor, to which I said that Hallway Hermey is my sponsor, even if he is a raging drunkard, who I discovered ass over tits this AM when I went out to run the stairs, which is not how I last saw him when I got back last night from the cafe at eight.
I'm joking, yes, but there is a wisdom in the idea of going out and earning each of your days.