Thursday, 25 July 2002 | Mike Brady

My room is filled with piles, and, sadly, they aren't piles that have anything to do with the move. In fact, apart from getting a job and a place to live, I have done exactly nothing in the way of packing or changing my address or getting print-outs of my medical history or assembling boxes or throwing things away. Well, I suppose I've spent time with a couple of people whom I'm going to miss...does that count?

The thing is, I haven't been lazy or careless or unmotivated at all; I've just been thoroughly busy with everything else, this Santa's list of errands to run and people to e-mail, along with this nebulous cloud of duties never realized in printed form but hanging over me nonetheless. Last night I even poured myself a glass of my favorite wine but had to run out the door before I could drink it. Hours later, it was still sitting on the table, slowly turning sour as it waited for me. It made me smile when I saw it there, as it made my chaos seem rather pitiful.

I'm still recovering from last week's wreck. It's hard not to be suspicious of the chiropractor, but I'm trying to keep an open mind. Today my muscles feel clumpy and tight, like an overfull sock drawer. Every few minutes I repeat the following pattern: I catch myself sitting like an old woman with osteoporosis, I straighten my back and sit up tall, and then I subconsciously lapse back into a banana.

I keep thinking of that Brady Bunch episode, when Mike Brady was being taken advantage of by a guy he'd been in a wreck with. The guy was fine at the scene of the accident, but when they went to court, he showed up wearing a neck brace and crutches, I think. To prove the guy was a poser, Mr. Brady tossed his briefcase on the floor so that it landed flat and smacked the floor with a short, sharp sound. Of course the guy whipped around to see what it was, thereby proving he wasn't injured. What a strange show. That would never work in real life.