More and more rain. And the weather forecast calls for rain for at least a week. A day of mid-to heavy lifting. Lifted books. Lifted the printer that UPS left in the driveway. Lifted horse manure, wet heavy manure that I hauled using the dolly to the far end of the pen. So no surprise tonight I sat down in the chair that rolls, by the phone, stood up quickly, and felt my hip seize up.

Yes, I need to get an appointment for an MRI. I will do this in the morning. Then when I know what the problem is, I will get physical therapy. A good plan. I had postponed what is now inevitable because I thought that the hip was healing. But the problem may not even be in the hip.

Rainy day

It's good that this happened in the evening. I will go to sleep, and it may be better tomorrow.

If I write any more about this tonight it will be considered obsessing. So I will write about other things.

I pause. Maybe those who talk incessantly about their whoas (har har) have nothing else to talk about. Their world view has become quite narrow, maybe because their illness impedes their ability to get around and impedes their ability to maintain a world view.

I did take the dogs for a walk around the loop this evening. I would like to say that I took the dogs for a run this evening. Tonight I read in the New York Times about Lael Wilcox, who just finished bicycling around the world, 108 days, 18,000 miles. Wilcox has previously bicycled every road in Alaska and done the Divide Ride five times.

Yes, of course I’m envious. I wish I had that kind of discipline. I had my chance when I first bicycled cross country, but I got to the west coast and went no further.

Are these days over? I still would like to do another lengthy horse trek.

I am now tied down to a job. It’s a good job, with many, many kudos every day, but kudos don’t pay for new horse saddles. They also won’t pay for the farm down the way, on the right of the Glenn Highway, going into town.

The farm must come with three head of beef cattle, unless the cows are squatters. And pasturage, lots and lots of pasturage. I fear that unless someone purchases it who wants to keep it as a farm, that it will be turned into a huge subdivision.

I fantasize about purchasing this farm for $1.00 then think further about how much money it would take to make it functional. Like the Eagle Hotel. I think that the owner is going to sell it to his son.

If I could get a glimpse of the future, I’d most likely be surprised. There I would be, in my long underwear shirt and jeans, cleaning up horse poop. Some things will never change.

Next: 249. 9/13/24: Friday the 13th