[First published 12th Feb 2012]

Yesterday was one of those days. I hope not a pivot point, when I’ll look back and go – yes, it was fucking well that. But it was nonetheless one of those days.
My shoulder has been (see where I’m going?) doing pretty well, I think. The pain decreasing, apart from when I’m stretching, and the strength and mobility gradually returning. It’s 5.16am and it’s aching now. Partially because of yesterday and partially because of my writing this. It’s not that I’m using it, more that it knows I’m talking about it. I haven’t been writing about it much because it’s been quietly recovering, but yesterday I replaced a lightbulb. It felt tight, nothing more – certainly nowhere near as tight as during some of my stretches – but afterwards … pain. I don’t think I’ve ripped it again, but it’s so depressing, to know that over two months after surgery it’s still so fragile. So diva-like. I haven’t dared to start to loosen it up yet, and may need a good shower beforehand to get the blood moving.
Put simply, it scares me. This year is proving so bizarre already, I really fear for my me-ness. The manner in which I have achieved self-definition is basically under assault. And not just from a demanding mog.
There’s a hollowness at my core. A visceral, physical, hollowness that I can’t explain.
What I really need, I suspect is a hug.
Oh, and some basal ganglia that work properly.