Well, I suppose we could talk about what the Terrible Candidates will try to pull off tonight in the last debate, and Mrs. Clinton gets ready to pack her bags for Disney World or wherever it is that successful candidates go.

I was listening to the satellite radio on the way back from Physical Therapy, which frankly kicked my ass under the knowledgeable hands of Justin, my therapist. The polls appear to demonstrate the unusual perception amongst the electorate that neither of them are to be trusted, and both of them rouse strong feelings of antipathy. On that matter, at least, there appears to be little debate.

Finally, a poll I can agree with!

Justin and I have spent enough time together to know that he is the father of an 18-month old boy, husband of a wife who is under the weather today, and he looks forward to getting home and relieving her of care-giving duties and getting the tyke outside to play in the last of this beautiful weather.

With each visit, Justin loads me up with a couple new torture routines I am supposed to be doing at home. I have a little sheaf of papers that have detailed outlines of the stretching and pulling exercises, where to put the bolster behind my knees to maximize the torture, and how the latex bands are tied to provide implacable resistance to my stretching.

So far, the ones dealing with my cervical vertebrae have had the biggest impact; Justin has me looking left and right, up and down, rinse and repeat a few times a day.

He is such a harsh taskmaster that I had to wander down to the Storage unit and look for the yoga mat I bought last year in the fever of continuing a regimen of low-impact but strategic exercise that thankfully passed swiftly and without comment even before the New Year’s resolution week.

The legs are a completely separate matter, osteoarthritis coupled with the blown quadriceps that were a cause of some puzzlement to Justin.

“Taken apart, there is nothing unusual about your presentation,” he said, pushing the dark frames of his glasses up on his nose. “But it is very unusual to have them present together.”

“It is not unusual in here,” I responded, pointing in the general direction of my chest. “I have spent a lifetime running into other men at high rates of speed, crashing on skis and otherwise abusing all the joints and connective tissues between them. But I have noticed marked improvement in being able to see the mirrors when I drive the car.”

“That is a generally good sign,” said Justin. “Though in Washington, you may not want to see what is bearing down on you.”

I could have said something about the election, but whatever the words would have been, the conclusions would naturally be debatable.

I will try to watch the candidates slug it out, mostly out of a certain dread fascination with whatever the outcome is going to be. In deference to the grand traditions of the American political process, I am going to go over to The Front Page and do my debate preparation with whoever shows up.

The Regulars of the South Side have our obligations to meet, and having already voted, I intend to take this with the seriousity and truthiness it deserves.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com