Grabbing life by the horns. And getting gored. Then stomped on. Then pooped on.
Over the past few weeks, I decided to push my activity level up a notch or two, and see how I would hold up. There was a stint at an ad agency (yes, I still venture back into adland occasionally), some freelance writing for an I.T. consultancy, more contract work for a computer company and even a recording session or two.
As Lost in Space's Dr. Smith used to say, "Oh the pain."
I've gotten twitcher, dizzier, more nauseated, more fatigued, more depressed... hey, I'm beginning to sound like a proper rock star! Except, my "condition" is not the result of pills and booze. No, it's the result of my damn brain injury, my recovery from which seems to have reached a plateau.
But what is my choice, really? Stop doing the things I enjoy (writing about computers, writing songs, recording, going on little vacations with Catherine, visiting friends) because each and every one of these things seems to exact its pound of flesh.
No, I just need to press on and deal with the consequences. As miserable as heightened activity makes me, doing nothing is nearly as bad. Everything in moderation I guess.
Besides, was last week's migraine headache worth it, even though it cost me seeing my Dad for breakfast, forced me to stay in bed until one, then left me feeling hungover for what was left of the day because, well, that's what migraines do to me? The answer is yes, I think.
Because the cause of my cranial crapout was most likely the four hours I spent in the recording studio the day before. Mind you, I wasn't DOING anything, just listening and commenting from the comfort of a chair while Dave Brogan put his smooth, weathered voice onto two songs and Jaime Durr "played" The Pro Tools". Still, going over vocal parts, talking about phrasing, tapping rhythms, it's enough to do me in, especially after so living. Sigh.