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I cracked my ribs when riding my bicycle downtown San Francisco. This was unfortunate, as I was about to travel to Rosarito, Mexico to attend my brother's wedding. Suffering, but alive, I managed to fly myself, my girlfriend, my mother, and her boyfriend to San Diego where I had a rental car reserved. My mother insisted that I purchase Mexican car insurance even though it felt like a castration followed closely by a lobotomy.

After a preemptive Mexican lunch, we crossed the border and immediately got lost. When we finally arrived at the gated community where I had rented a house for 4 nights, I immediately headed for the pool.

This is where I completely broke a rib. I thought I had healed sufficiently. Boy was I wrong. Cough up a little blood and everyone freaks out. Probably bruised my spleen and almost punctured a lung. One trusty giant Ace bandage and a bottle of Mexican pharmaceuticals later, I'm doing okay.

When I rented the house, the website said it came with 3 TV's and cable. No cable. I'm stuck inside on vacation with no cable and no internet and it hurts to breathe. They promised to refund us a nights stay for the inconvenience. I'll believe it when the check clears. All I had brought was a book on the history of the square root of negative one, or imaginary number theory.

So, doped up on painkillers, I tried to wrap my feeble mind around triangles of doubt and vectors of distraction. Symbols floated around until I realized that sleep is the ultimate escape. I needed a vacation from my own consciousness. I dreamed of swimming in the Olympics and winning by a time of the square root of negative one.