I considered dedicating Day 0 to this post, desiring to drag the Burning Man story out with a Lucas-esque fervor, but that part of the tale will have to remain with The Profuser and I. Has anything significant happened since I've returned? My beard is gone: a casualty of war. Its absence makes my face look small and deformed - chinless. I look shameful, like a soldier stripped of an earned medal. Today was my first day back in the gym after a nearly 3-week hiatus. Talk about exercises in humility. I felt like a ghost of my former self; easily fatigued and quickly weakened, like Superman trapped in a room full of kryptonite. By the end of the workout I was lying on the floor, dripping with sweat and panting like a hot dog. The only difference between a hot dog and a hot-dog is a hyphen. My body is still aching, more each minute I'm awake. It is fascinating how quickly the body will turn to a gelatinous bag of crippled fat during brief periods of disuse. I've been told it will just as quickly bounce back, but I'm doubtful.
Ok, I've got nothing.
My mind is still wine-stained from the weekend.
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