Ten minutes. Thursday I got on the cycle for ten minutes, and Friday, my back hurt less. Damn. That means I have to get to the gym every day, and I have the motivation to do so. Went Friday evening as well. It's not what I call pleasant. I prefer the treadmill, generally. Like preferring the wheel over the rack, but. After thinking this flare up had subsided as much as it intended, nothing more to be done, I find I can make it better. Good, in a big way.
Moby on a tear all morning. Had the balcony door open, which was fine. Then he ran out, and crouched - aiming toward the railing. A very familiar stance and expression. Thankfully he is a timid and thoughtful jumper, and before he could work out the details of the trajectory, I shooed him back in, to his irritation. "NO! Wait! I was gonna... damn." I've also stopped feeling bad about the laser pointer. It always seemed a bit mean, a cheat, because he could never catch it, and oh, how he tries. But the last couple of times, before I turn it on, he looks up at the thing in my hand, expectantly, then down where the red bug will appear, then back up at me, and the pointer. OK, so he knows it's a game, and he likes it, and he can always go bite the stuffed mouse later.
Have to clean today. Must, must, must.
More dreams about my father, this time in the garage, dingy concrete and dim light, close space, and roller skates. He's rarely doing anything, sometimes shouting, but a leaden presence.