Bend until you…

I had my first session of physical therapy this morning. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined it would be, given my now-deceased Grandpa’s one-round bout with his therapist some years ago. The problem was, this guy wouldn’t listen to G-pa when told it hurt. Floyd being as out of it as he was at the time, brain riddled with Parkinsons and all, the PT didn’t think it necessary to be considerate. So he got punched. Hard. Hard enough to send him flying across the room. See, Grandpa may not have been able to balance enough to walk on his own anymore, but he was a veritable Franklin Roosevelt in the upper body strength category. My experience, fortunately, was much nicer. The lady who took care of me, we shall call her T., was amazing. She listened so well, and explained things just so, giving physical examples beautifully. I still stick with thanking god(dess-or whatever,) that I’ve never had to do this kind of work before, but would not hesitate to consider PT again in the future, if necessary.

The best part, though, was that I took a whole half-day off, just in case I was in a great deal of pain after the session. Since I started the appointment at 8 AM, this left me with a wide-open expanse of day. I jiggered it so that if I wanted to, I could come back in to work early, but didn’t… Begging “soul-wracking” soreness, I went home, had a leisurely breakfast cooked in my newly spotless kitchen (as of last night… I ignored Orpheus through the whole of Muppet Treasure Island to sterilize said isle of culinary delight), then fucked the living shit out of O. on the couch, to the accompaniment of Kathy Lee and Hoda on the Today Show, MC-ing an underwear model walk. Terra Firma is spending this entire week in the U.P. (Upper Peninsula of Michigan, for the uninitiated,) at some all-chick music festival with her girlfriend, so public-area screwing in my apartment is both feasible and deliciously permissible right now. Until T.F. returns, the policy on nudity is, once the main door closes, you’re naked. Orpheus likes it, as do I… Nudity in multiple rooms hearkens back to very early in our relationship, when I had my own two bedroom apartment, and we could have sex against any surface without worrying about grossing anybody else out. Now that I have a roomie, we are using a towel, and I’m cleaning again before Sunday… Stop making that face.

Tomorrow is Orpheus’ birthday, so after I am done at work, we’re going shopping, and I’m cooking up a storm. I have Wednesday off, and we will picnic with much pomp at dinner time, hosting Chemie, Basso, another friend, and possibly even Aphrodite, who may be back in town for the event. I’m to make pasta salad, a green salad, peach salsa, garlic/parmesan dip, fruit salad, and Faux-Chinese Chicken, which was specially requested by O. For dessert, we’ll buy a pie from L’MNO Pies, an AWESOME place near my apartment where you can get freshly baked pies, quiches, and the best pasties during lunchtime… They give you 40% off a pie on your birthday if you sign up to receive e-mails. Orpheus, of course, made sure he was on the list. We’ll also be seeing Hell Boy, if I have anything to say about it, and checking out a few fun things to do during the day. My gifts are, in reverse order of absurdity, a singing Sharpay doll a-la High School Musical (he’ll shit his pants, I swear…), a 600 mL SIGG bottle with an amusing design, and two (2) Punch Brothers’ Tickets. They’re coming back to town in September, and the last time we saw Chris Thile’s new band, it was amazing. Plus, I have to let him have me anywhere in my apartment he wants, at any time, for anything… Where did I put the poppers, again? j/k! I’ll tell you more about the party later.