Who cares about wealthy and wise?

I lost that vague, invisible, unused security blanket I call health insurance a few days ago when I turned 26. Ironically, not two days later I felt like crap with a burning throat and nights of restlessness caused by pools of saliva accumulating in the back of my mouth forcing me to continuously swallow and spit. I go a little crazy on those nights and had many moments where I felt like punching through the back of the dresser on my left. I would get fed up and suddenly launch out of bed to spit in the sink and drink some water. Then later, on the third time waking up from what could hardly be called good sleep, I'd gather my pillow and sleeping bag in my arms, slink to the big reclining chair in the living room, and try to sleep more upright so the stupid saliva would leave me alone. It worked a little bit. What finally let me sleep was eating tons of Goldfish crackers and staying awake until 4 a.m., watching a movie one night (it's a superb movie, I totally recommend it), and finally being so drained I couldn't help but sleep.

Then, of course, comes the thick yellow snot on one of those mornings, and the subsequent "getting better" stage of eternal leakage from the nose. I've gone through a lot of toilet paper "kleenex" and my nose was pretty raw. Congestion set in and instead of tons of saliva all night it was absolutely none. Part of this may have been due to finally succumbing to the symptom-numbing effects of the off-brand Nyquil I took for a couple nights. I'd wake up much earlier than I wanted to with a completely dry and itchy throat and a great desire to relieve pressure in my face. 

Saturday evening the pressure got the better of me and I enjoyed a fierce headache behind my right eye and all up in my cheekbones. Sunday I felt a little better and ventured out for a run. Then the same headache, except on my left side and it came later, waking me up in the middle of the night. More crackers, more water, more restless aching, and some Tylenol. Apparently it went away and I fell asleep because this morning I woke up and my face felt pretty normal. 

Which was a surprise, a really good one. It brought back wonderful memories of ages ago when I was healthy and running and breathing fine on Tuesday. I literally thanked God for it, because I knew it was the best chance I get at really appreciating that which we call health. Soon enough that blessing will be forgotten and underwhelming as I concern myself with other things. But for now, this morning, it's really, really nice to have everything almost back to normal. It makes me wonder how I would take some kind of chronic pain, or some kind of handicap, or a bout with cancer, or a more serious illness than the common cold. And it makes me wonder how can I make my health more valuable? How can it mean more to me, and to others? I don't want to look smug or ungrateful for my [Update: This is where the paragraph suddenly ended and I'm not sure why. I realized it much later after publishing... I don't even remember what I said. I think I was having trouble with the internet while writing and it must not have saved properly so when I published it it just didn't have the entire thing. Oh well. The point is there, I think. I'll just leave it as is.]

I can even just breathe a bit out of my right nostril again. 

Me. Now.

I am currently listening to Fjogur Piano by Sigur Ros. I love it.

Visited Al a while back. We fed the engineering club, I ripped my pants, we explored the fog, and ate a bunch of cheap Walmart pizzas. It's fun to see Brother, and to see him grow up.

Quick pic for Sister.

Al let me Instagram him.

Cables above,
cables below.

I buzzed my hair and started a February beard.

From top of Tiger Mtn.

A couple weeks ago I went to Seattle with Chelsea and enjoyed visiting Jessi, Tara, and Ryan. I took myself to Tiger Mountain for a solo adventure that included eight miles of walking and 1,600 feet of elevation gain, plus running in the snow with my barefoot shoes on, following some dog tracks that made me imagine a wolf was watching me, being frightened by a flock of crows taking off ahead of me on the trail, and making it down just as darkness began to settle and my hands began to freeze. It was the goodest of adventures. Later, Ryan and I ran and ran back in those woods on those steep forest roads and it was also very good.

Those are barefoot shoes.
Contradictory, I know.

 We also looked at cats and sat on couches. And did many other fun things. Friends are good to have.

Our mugs.

Anthony was just visiting this week and that made life more enjoyable. We celebrated his birthday and made muffins and went on walks and laughed a lot.

I'm blind now, didn't you know?

I learned recently about the Backroad Discovery Routes and now I'd very much like to run the Washington one. It looks gorgeous. It would take much logistical planning, I think, but probably be worth it. Anyone want to ride a motorcycle twenty or so miles a day and carry my stuff?

I can't stand how awesome this Valtari album is. It is making me cry dreams inside.

Three and a half more months here. I think I might finally manage to finish something, even though I tell people I'd be fine if they fired me any time. And sometimes while I'm driving into town or back from a break I imagine just passing the school and continuing on into anywhere. Maybe someday. Maybe June 9. Until then I'm here.

On way back from driving Anthony toward WWU y'day.
I love the snow still.

Inescapable Wait

Sitting on the plane after the Chicago to Phoenix leg, we were stuck waiting for another plane to leave our gate so we could approach. It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily—we were early. But still, it's that mental thing about having to wait for something we didn't deserve.

Next to me was an elderly black gentleman, a very thin one who seemed to have some trouble with mobility. His son, I think, was sitting behind him and they'd share, literally, a word or two now and then. He had the sharpest, heaviest elbows I've ever witnessed. I know, because somehow they'd end up kind of on my arm, kind of in my side, heavier and heavier until I'd finally wriggle out of his hold.

He slept most of the way over, I think, though that's mostly speculation because I slept most of the way over, too. But now we were awake, frightfully bored, and more and more antsitated (antsy + agitated) with every passing minute. I was trying to pass my time with the on flight magazine, and he was putting me into another elbow hold.

And now and then, in between his sniffling and his stiff jacket-removal (with son's and my help), he'd sigh. A kind of weighted, weary sigh. But what I couldn't help but smile about was the choice expression with which he punctuated each heavy sigh.

Slow exhale, easy "Shiiit." Together. Organic. Completely natural.

Son from behind would kind of embarrassingly try to shush him a bit and patiently explain that we had to wait, that we were early. But he stood his ground. Said something about not being able to do anything else, so he'd just keep complaining.

We eventually made it off that plane and on to continue our own journeys, but the old man left me wondering if sometimes, there really isn't a better way of saying things.