Somewhere in the continuing reports of the missing simulacra of Philip K. Dick, still awol somewhere in the United States, and on the eve of the release of the movie version of A Scanner Darkly (which I look forward to with great and considerable anticipation, being something of a fan of much of director Richard Linklater's work, to the degree that I believe he can overcome the horror of Keanu Reeves in the lead role, concerning which I have a Theory) lies the germ of a terrific short story which, again, alas, I will probably never write. Picture it hitching a ride to Orange County and suffering visions.
I think I'm getting better! I can still hardly walk, but there are definite and clear signs of improvement. The osteopath might be responsible, or the very gentle exercises: maybe both, maybe neither. I even made it into Stravaigin's post-spinal manipulation late Friday afternoon to grab a late lunch, read some papers, and enjoy actually being out of the house for the first time in weeks. Mind you, most of the time I was on my back in a booth with my head propped up, but still, call it progress.