When I first started therapy, I was very clinical about the whole thing. Like, "I'm sick, and this is what I need to do to get well." But during the second session, my physical therapist asked me if I was going to see Fahrenheit 911 and we started talking about stuff. Makes sense. Otherwise you're just watching this stranger rub your arm.

Anyway, not like I ever went psycho on her or anything, but it was nice to talk to her about what was up in my life (mostly work) and she told me about her husband and babies (mostly about how lucky I was to have so much free time to injure myself). When we cut back to one session a week when my arms got a bit better, I was a little sad.

This Friday is my last therapy appointment, and so the storyline will end Thurs... promise!