This website is now about one year old. The News tab is now updated, so if you want to see what a year looks like here, in a news-based list, here it is.
I walked three miles. And probably to the surprise of no one who reads these pages, I climbed the Monument five straight times today--a little extra--given the day, and for the first time since December. (Not because I'm a lazy, fat, disgusting pig man, but because it was closed for a couple months.)
Five climbs is basically my go-to number of sets. Time is a factor, but I considered my proper training routine five climbs. Obviously I do more or I do less, depending. When you're doing five without stopping, I feel like you're in pretty good shape. (Truth be told, I don't mind--I kind of enjoy--seeing people who look to be in-shape who are in their twenties, thirties, and forties, laboring extensively, taking breaks; one woman the other day had this five-inch string of mucus hanging from her nose; she was laboring so hard that I don't think she cared.) When you are doing ten or more, it's okay to go to the cardiologist to get evaluated. I'm more comfortable facing my cardiologist when I can tell him I have done ten climbs. (Not that I was up to ten last time I saw him. Then I was more comfortable facing him if I was doing five. My standards change. If I'm not improving I'm dying. In all things, I guess.) Because how bad can you be then, right? I like having something positive to report to him (I'd fall apart if I couldn't tell him I had zero drinks of alcohol; I need to be able to tell him that). I'm scared of doctors. It just gives me a little mental leg up when I go in. I know it makes no sense and it's kind of pathetic.
No running in the Monument today, as I had already showered. So just walking. Not stopping. Consistent pace. Took about thirty minutes. Which is pretty good. Emma is going to climb with me one of these days. We'll see how she does. When we were on the T, I looked at her and said, "You're like my practice kid." To which she replied, "I thought you said you were never going to breed?" This is true. I did say that. There's too much I want to do--too much life for me--to want to have children. Too much life I want to share with one person. All of the art and ideas to throw myself into. Nature. There's so much of that, I couldn't take away from that time and those journeys. But I did mention I know someone who had a kid a bit later than most. He had some change of desire, maybe. I don't know the circumstance. I just know the chronology. So I reserve the right to possibility. Just in case. "And you're like my practice child. In case I do breed." She rolled her eyes at me, sighed, then gave me something of a reluctant thumb's up. She's very funny when she does things like that. The other day when we were going to Starbucks, I dashed out the door with a handful of jelly beans for her. She mentioned shoe loved them, and I had a fresh bag. So, we're out on the sidewalk, en route, and she says to me, "Wait, are these the good kind?" "The good kind?" I say. "Like you want them sourced from beside a magic beanstalk? This is bullshit. Have your jelly beans." We're at the Starbucks, and the beans that had been in her pocket, end up on the table, because she wants to organize them into various designs. Which is what she always does with anything. Coins, candy. So she's handling these things, and then she decides she wants to eat half, and she wants to return the other half to me. I'm like, fine, practice child, give me the beans. I put them in my pocket, and I see that she's crestfallen. "What?" I ask. "You're supposed to eat them now, as a kind of bonding ritual between us." So I did. These were not the freshest of beans by this point. They were kind of smeary and gross.
I read at the Starbucks. Emma came by, so I hung out with her; she did her homework and read, I made notes for "You're Up, You're Down, You're Up," and read as well. When it was time for Downtown, I went outside and did the segment. I feel like it was pretty good. I feel like there was profundity. I think there is real purpose to these words, that they can help people. Someone told me that the show comes alive in a totally different way during these segments. We discussed, near the end, some of the things I've published lately, and I was able to get into what is, in some ways, the secret of all my work and everything I do. It's very complex, but also, in another way, simple. And I was glad that Rich commented on "Linesman," the story from Sunday--God that seems so long ago--and we were able to discuss that. I think it's a special work, though I despair over when the world will get to see it.
I feel like I look tired and bedraggled today. My hat needs a wash.