Day 493: Beautiful Mind

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As promised I have been taking it easy the last couple of days, not doing anything more stupid than usual to aggravate my neck|back. I have officially divined this physical break down of my body, this structural failing in the current state of my organism, as a sign that it's time I buckle down on the memory work and really start taking a chainsaw to the veritable jungle that is my brain meat.

As such I have been a busy little immobilized beaver these last couple of days believe you me.

Since I last wrote this thing early yesterday I have done little else but the aforementioned mental memory olympics and can happily report a not insignificant amount of progress in all facets of "the trick". I'm getting close now, surely, and have the calm and harmonious orbit we've created over here to thank for that. In addition, I suppose, to the injury that is currently assaulting me.

It's funny, I'm reminded of a bit I used to do about Stephen Hawking. I may have already related it before, but I have little else to say, so I'll tell it anyway.

His story is truly a remarkable one, a brilliant mind stricken by a debilitating illness that crippled his own body, to a much more significant and permanent degree than my own, robbing him of even the most basic physical pleasures, and more importantly for a scientist., even his ability to hold a piece of chalk.

Did he let that stop him?

No! Not being able to write the formulas out by hand forced him to visualize the problems in his head, working them out 3 dimensionally, helping to establish him as one of the greatest minds of the 21st Century; a story that spells out a very clear message for all of us...

We should cripple all scientists!

We don't have the time for you people to be out gallivanting around playing racquetball and having lives, the climate is balls and there's ebola all over the place!

Someone go take out their knee caps and prop them up in a lab somewhere and lets get to work. It you need me I'll be laying right here, crippled up myself, taking a page out of Mr. Hawkins book. ... it's not like he can stop me.

Unless he can control black holes these days. I'm a little out of touch.  

Before I slide the old Stylus back in the phone sheath for the night I have two other quick things to relate:

1) Blaze says "Mum"now. No doubt I won't hear "da"again until he's 13 and wants the keys to my jetpack.

2) He face planted today and bit into his own gums drawing a pretty good little stream of blood; his first official war wound in life.

He's now bled and can say 'mum'. In some cultures that would make him a man.

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