yesterday afternoon, i got an email from a teammate about his use, in the gym, of the smith machine and how much weight he was lifting and how he was lifting it.  helplessly, as though i were in some trance, like a zombie, i abandoned my office responsibilities, and watched from a distance, a virtual out of body experience, as my mindless-body headed to the basement gym where i basically doubled my weights and did many, many, many sets of squats with waaayyyy too much weight.  And then I went home and passed out in bed in my clothes, where I slept until comrade randers-pehrson called and woke me this morning.  i believe i have some sort of pathology related to competitiveness.  i am leaving washington dc for the hinterlands of tibet and nepal to spend some time with the monks and cleanse myself of this cursed aggressiveness and seek peace.  and drink lots of yak milk.  i've heard that's good for calming the inner self.

aloha,

scott