This morning I tried a few push ups for the first time in a few weeks. Good news: I had full strength in my right arm! Yay! So clearly I am going to jump right back into an aggressive strength training workout in order to re-destroy my arm as rapidly as possible. Or, perhaps, I will ease into adding some strength training back into my workout. One of those two things.

Also, I watched the second half of the current Doctor Who story, so let's talk about that.

On the third episode into Peter Capaldi's second season (and Jenna Coleman's third), Clara gets her new identity for the season. Her first year she was the Impossible Girl. Her second year she became Romance Girl. On her third and final go-around she has become DeathWishClara. None of these changes of character are in any way organic, it's simply that for whatever reason Steven Moffat seems completely unable to have a companion be an actual person, they must be a plot point. He might as well have had a new companion each year for all the insonsistency in behavior between them.

After eighteen months of doing this on a daily basis, it becomes increasingly difficult to find something clever or engaging to say. Especially at eleven thirty at night when my bed is calling. So let's talk Doctor Who and get this over with so I can get to bed.

Have you ever had an evening where you are supposed to be writing a blog post, but you wind up futzing around with an acoustic cover of Cum On Feel the Noize instead? Or is that just me? Anyway, I should write this thing so that I can go to bed.

So let's talk about the major positive course-correction that is the Twelfth Doctor's second season.

Back in the very first issue of Neil Gaiman's groundbreaking Sandman comic book series, the story ends with a character being punished with the Curse of Eternal Waking. You might think, from the name, that he is cursed to never sleep again. That isn't the case, though. Rather, he is cursed with endlessly finding himself trapped in a nightmare and waking in terror, only to find that he is still dreaming and trapped in another nightmare, on and on for all eternity. I bought that issue back in January of 1989 when it first came out, and that ending has haunted me forever. 

Apparently the same idea haunts Steven Moffat as well, and he thought it would make the perfect theme for a Christmas special. Huh? Let's talk about that.

For the first nine months of this ridiculous project, my weight dropped slowly and steadily (with the normal expected daily fluctuations). Then around last Christmas it pretty much leveled out and I assumed I was done losing weight and that my body had found its new normal. I was perfectly fine with this. I started strength training and actually bulked up a bit, building muscle mass and gaining back the right kind of weight. I was also perfectly fine with this. In the past month or so, though, I have begun trending back downward again. In fact, I am currently beck to within 1 lb of my lowest weight since starting this project, which is... disorienting. I keep saying I don't care about any specific number, that this has never been about weight per-se, and my rational brain absolutely believes that. But my crazed target-oriented brain is totally locked in on maybe pulling off a late rally and finishing this project on a serious high note (or, I guess, low note as the case may be). With only a month left to go, where will I end up? Time will tell.

Anyway, I also watched the season finale today for the Twelfth Doctor's first season this morning. So let's talk about that.

I have been very clear from the start that this ridiculous project isn't about weight, and that although I am tracking number as a gross indicator I do not have any specific goal other than "feel better". I keep on saying it (because it's true), but that doesn't change the fact that it made me ridiculously happy this morning when I registered the lowest weight and lowest five-day moving average weight since mid-February when I added strength training to my routine. I am vain enough to admit that, yes, I would be very pleased if I were to drop just a bit further. That doesn't change the fact that I am perfectly happy with the results I have achieved thus far, I think it just makes me human. Not a whole lot I can do about that.

As for Doctor Who today, well: Danny Pink died. Let's talk about that.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake's The Tyger is so much more entertaining than today's episode of Doctor Who. So let's talk about that.

Tonight was opening night for my show Xanadu, which (as you may recall from the fine, fine movie of the same name) is about an artist inspired to greatness by a muse with an Australian accent. It seems fitting that today's viewing of Doctor Who also featured a struggling artist in a significant role.

So let's talk about that.

After having gotten back on track yesterday, I almost blew it today. I just couldn't drag my butt out of bed at 6am, and my son had an early doctor appointment (which, ironically, caused me to miss my early Doctor appointment.) I managed to squeeze in my fifty five minutes on the treadmill over my lunch break, though, so I am still on track to finish this ridiculous project on Monday, August 6th.

As for my viewing today, of course it included an "are you my mummy" joke. So let's talk about that.