Overheard in an email...

Adrián, who is a genuine dear, is frustrated that he can't do something about my fibro, that he can't come up with a training routine that will eliminate it. I told him that made two of us and not to worry about it. He really must be the sweetest man around. We have settled on a form of interval training until this attack fades away. That 30-minute evaluation looms again, "as soon as you feel well enough", but if he needs it in order to see how I'm doing, so be it. Adrián rules!

Meanwhile, I overheard in an email that someone who reads this blog doesn't like it. Well, it isn't homework, and the fate of the world doesn't hang in the balance if said individual doesn't read it. In fact, not reading it would appear to be the ideal solution for anyone who still has three neurons firing. My suggestion is just that: if you don't like it, don't read it. It won't matter to me because I don't know who reads it and who doesn't, except for the people who make comments. So, considering that life is chock full of irritations, problems, obstacles, and disappointments, why add yet another? It would seem to be a masochistic undertaking to subject oneself time and again to something you don't like when you don't have to do it, but to each his own peculiar psychological quirks, I say.

Rest assured that even if no one at all reads the blog, on it will go. I have my own reasons. If I discovered, however, that a friend was writing a blog that I didn't like, and I made it a point to mention this to my friend, I would be writing unspoken volumes of information about my own disappointments and expectations, and my own unresolved issues with aggression and self-esteem. It's best to keep quiet.

Unless, of course, I was the kind of person who would settle for any reaction at all as long as it was a reaction to me, confirming my importance in my own eyes.

Satisfied?