I woke up early and hustled off to my appointment with the Korean acupuncturist I've been seeing the past month. First some lancing, then three needles along the back of my right hand, one behind my right knee, and a pair in my right foot. An hour on the table dozing.
Today he explained that man is the only animal that has body problems. And dogs, and some other domesticated animals, but that's a symptom of them following man, he says. It's all about diet. The list of foods I should and shouldn't eat according to my body type is a riddle. It reads like a poem, the kind constantly referencing plants you know exist but can't picture.
Book I read today: Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay. The title poem felt by far the best. It's a long, effusive poem, meandering, speaking directly to the reader and then launching into pure Romantic style lyricism, a subterranean layer of real grief holding it all up but still he's saying Thanks and he means it.
The whole book feels like one long afternoon hanging out with Ross eating fruit from his garden.