Word: paines
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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Tuesday, March 17: The sensation has not dissipated, but to the contrary, has intensified. More pain than tingling, it is now located in my inner forearms. I had to take a midterm today and barely made it for all the handwriting we had to do. Stupid Core. I made an appointment at University Health Services and spent two hours absorbing the Harvard RSI Action website (www.eecs.harvard.edu/rsi)....
Wednesday, March 18: Same old pain. My computer jockey lifestyle has flashed before me: the all-nighters for Computer Science 50 and philosophy papers; the 700 e-mails per month; the incessant clicking of the mouse button for web browsing. Frighteningly, this evening I started to have a painful tugging in one of the tendons of my right forearm. I did not write my tutorial paper for fear of doing further damage. I have begun to enlist friends and strangers in the computer lab to type messages...
...twisting for some modicum of comfort, staring blearily at oddly-angled monitors and typing furiously on stress-enhancing keyboards. Our "breaks" from work too often consist of checking e-mail, surfing the Web or playing a quick round of solitaire or Quake. We ignore any fatigue or arm pain in favor of working late into the night to finish that last paper or problem...
...sitting out the first 48 hours in shock, while his wife plotted a way out. But this time, if the White House can be believed, Clinton was just plain mad. On Saturday night he and his Camp David houseguests watched The Boxer, a dense drama of personal and political pain in Northern Ireland. Then he got on the phone with the trashman, James Carville, who in 1992 ran the war room and commandeered the phrase "speed kills" to express the belief that when you get attacked, you should fire back immediately. Carville does not have much contact with Clinton from...
Although several of the songs on Pilgrim deal with the death of Clapton's four-year-old son Conor in 1991, the impersonal, generic pop gloss of this album prevents us from really communing with his pain. The confessional My Father's Eyes, the CD's opening number, is so polished and plodding it never comes close to evoking emotion in the listener--unless you consider boredom an emotion. As for the next cut, River of Tears, it has a central metaphorical construction so lazy that one half expects the next track to be titled Needle in a Haystack. Simple...