If there are a thousand shocks that flesh is heir to, I must be nearing my quota. After working at the office until 1 a.m. yesterday, I arose this morning with a large project before me, involving the movement of many of our largest pieces of furniture and the assembly and installation of an enormous bookshelf in the form of an interlocking grid of pre-cut lumber (rather like the cardboard dividers inside a case of wine). All went well until, having put the whole thing together, I noticed that I had put one of the higher shelves in upside-down. It was hard to pull it out — it is eight feet long, and was very tightly wedged in place — but I wasn’t going to take no for an answer (being immensely strong, I am accustomed to getting my way with material objects). I reached up and gave a mighty heave, but what gave way this time was not the obdurate shelf, but rather my left biceps, which tore apart with a sickening crunch.
I’ve now got back from the NYU Medical Center’s emergency room, where they could do nothing for me, other than to take an X-ray (which of course showed nothing), put my arm in a sling, and suggest that I see an orthopedist as soon as possible. I have had other such injuries over the years (I even had an avulsion of the biceps tendon in my right arm in 2000, which required surgery) but it has been nine years now since the last one, and I thought things were quieting down.
Typing is very difficult. If there isn’t much to see here over the next few days, that’s why, though I shall try. I have no idea how I will write code for eight to twelve hours a day like this, but will just have to do my best, I suppose.
I had planned to pen a lengthy meditation today on the death of Walter Cronkite, who for Americans my age was a towering presence, but for now I’ll just skip it, I guess.