So a friend of mine had a couple of Flexeril and thought that I ought to try one in order to sleep a little better (which BTW actually works provided you don't mind your limbs turning into Gummy Worms.)
I discovered that the advantage of taking Flexeril the night before an appointment with Kelly, is that my arm had the resistance power of the French when Hitler marched through Paris. There was some furtive spitting on the sidewalk, but no serious insurgency.
On the down side, my body was as organized as a wet noodle.
I had brought Cuban coffee as an offering . And though I sort of trusted him to share the coffee, I made sure by fixing his coffee first and reserving a wee bit for me.
As this was the first coffee I had swallowed in three years, it was a momentous event. Kelly claims that since it was so long since I had drunk coffee, that I was technically losing my coffee virginity again. I do remember the first time: I walked from Penn State's East Halls all the way down to Willard Hall in the winter. I was so frozen that I bought a vending-machine coffee with 6 quarters. I did not care ni un comino what it tasted like - I only cared that it was hot. Not a great first experience.
It was Grad school that got me seriously hooked on coffee: I started with steamers so I could hang out with the other wired grad students. Being naturally hyper helped me "pass" for a while. But then I moved up to decaf for the flavor, then half-caf, then single shot, then double....well, you can imagine how that went.
Anyway, the caffeine jolt in that small cup of gasolina simply heightened my awareness of my wet-noodle status. I kept thinking it was a good thing he didn't ask me to lift anything other than my arm. It was funny enough when I had to turn over.
At any rate, wiggly, caffeinated and a little more mobile in the shoulder: not a bad way to start to a full day of teaching.
I discovered that the advantage of taking Flexeril the night before an appointment with Kelly, is that my arm had the resistance power of the French when Hitler marched through Paris. There was some furtive spitting on the sidewalk, but no serious insurgency.
On the down side, my body was as organized as a wet noodle.
 |
| Ok, maybe my offering wasn't presented exactly like this. But it's the coffee joy that counts |
As this was the first coffee I had swallowed in three years, it was a momentous event. Kelly claims that since it was so long since I had drunk coffee, that I was technically losing my coffee virginity again. I do remember the first time: I walked from Penn State's East Halls all the way down to Willard Hall in the winter. I was so frozen that I bought a vending-machine coffee with 6 quarters. I did not care ni un comino what it tasted like - I only cared that it was hot. Not a great first experience.
It was Grad school that got me seriously hooked on coffee: I started with steamers so I could hang out with the other wired grad students. Being naturally hyper helped me "pass" for a while. But then I moved up to decaf for the flavor, then half-caf, then single shot, then double....well, you can imagine how that went.
Anyway, the caffeine jolt in that small cup of gasolina simply heightened my awareness of my wet-noodle status. I kept thinking it was a good thing he didn't ask me to lift anything other than my arm. It was funny enough when I had to turn over.
It got even funnier when he finished up with what I think of as "giggle-wheels." He twists his hands in a spiral movement on my back, adding lots of pressure at the same time. Theoretically, it should be hard to breathe while a strong man is bearing down on your back like that, but for some reason it pretty much squeezes giggles out of me-perhaps my back has a unique sense of humor I have yet to explore.
At any rate, wiggly, caffeinated and a little more mobile in the shoulder: not a bad way to start to a full day of teaching.
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