My Friendsh

God smote me Monday for being such fervent Obama supporter, by giving me empathy for John McCain.

I hadn't worked out my upper body for a good two years, since the last time my tennis elbow flared up really bad. Monday I went to the gym with my cousin Mike, and pushed myself until it hurt.

And it was a good hurt, until later that night. I woke up at 3am, in too much pain to sleep. My arms killed. The next night I downed some NyQuil to help me get to sleep. Kathy got upset, but I argued that though I wasn't "sniffly, sneezing, aching, sore throat," I was definitely aching. But I gave in and didn't take any the next day. I did argue with Kath that we should keep an emergency bottle of whiskey around for situations like this. She disagreed.

The next day I couldn't put my arms all the way down, and I couldn't reach them up very high. I basically had them pointed forward like John McCain does when he's making a point.
When I would reach to get my coat off of the hanger, or to get my toothbrush off of the shelf behind the mirror, I would have to stand on my tiptoes and angle my body funny, because I couldn't raise my arms above my shoulders.

Kathy commented that I looked like a T-rex.
I thought I looked more like an extra on Michael Jackson's Thriller.
I slept well last night without any whiskey or NyQuil, and I am feeling much better, my friendsh.