Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Dangers of Television


TV to the Rescue!
Originally uploaded by wackystuff
Robb and I have been in a 1930's whodunit spree, for quite some time now. Our fascination for British period pulp is apparently the bastard love-child of P.G. Wodehouse and Arthur Conan Doyle.

Intrigue. Antiquated class structures. Excessive alcohol consumption. What could be more diverting?

Having previous gorged ourselves on Lord Peter Wimsey and Jane Marple, we engaged in an orgy of Campion-watching last night.

And today, Robb is paying for this. He has a major television hangover.

I was teasing Robb last night about how he was sitting too still, but sitting still is exactly what did him in. When Robb gets too caught up in something, and doesn't regularly change his position, his body protests and "punishes" him.

Too much laying still, and watching tv? That results in a sleepless night and achy discomfort the next day. Weird, huh?

This all proves the point that if Robb wants to feel well, he has to keep moving at all times.

A year ago:
Robb sleeps without socks for the first time since his spinal cord injury. We lead an exciting life, don't we?

Two years ago:
I'm engaged in a frenzy of painting, and create a beautiful faux-tile floor in just two days. (Great photos on this one.)

Three years ago:
Robb has his final home-therapy session, and starts doing therapy without his full-torso body armor. The cats are shedding.


Anonymous said...

Gregory House is Bertie Wooster!

Ponder that!


. . . Lisa and Robb . . . said...

And he's also all over Blackadder.

. . . Lisa and Robb . . . said...

But of course, House truly *is* the bastard love-child of Bertie Wooster and Sherlock Holmes.


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