Far From Home

"Oh, I guess nobody told you - I'm in the hospital." That definitely tops the list of words I don't want to hear when I call my dad to thank him for some photos he sent me. He has a staph infection on his face, but he's on IV antibiotics and should be fine. It just made the fact that I'm not at home, that things can happen without my knowledge, a little more real. No matter how often I talk to my family (which is quite often), I'm not exactly in the loop anymore. And I won't ever be again, really, excepting three or four summers. It's an odd mental adjustment to make.



When you go to the gym, most people are sweating and slaving away in their own little bubbles of "don't-look-at-me-don't-talk-to-me-I'm-working-out". But there's one guy whom I see there fairly often who pretty much makes my day - he runs (at what would be, for me, a crushing pace) while lip-syncing, complete with gestures and flamboyant head jerks, to what appears to be some kind of punk rock. His expressions are priceless. No way would I have enough extra breath or energy to do that. Would there were more like him - going to the gym wouldn't be half so monotonous if everybody were doing silent karaoke!