Wired

[muckefuck]

Surprisingly, taking a sponge bath only added five minutes to my morning ritual today, even with hair washing. That doesn't mean it wasn't supremely awkward, kneeling in the bathtub and trying to wrap a towel around my middle while sticking my head under the faucet--all without knocking the monitor onto the floor. If I'd only known I'd be under a Duschverbot, I would've washed my hair yesterday. I can go two-and-a-half days without shampooing, but three-and-a-half is simply beyond endurance.

How outrageous is it, by the way, that I can store my entire library of pop music on a device which can fit under my tongue, but to record a mere 48 hours of heart activity, I'm saddled with something the size and heft of a Walkman? I know I shouldn't expect Cadillac care on my budget health plan; I'd happily settle for half-decade-old Apple technology. But the worst of it is the sticky patches. I hardly noticed them at first, but by this afternoon I was ready to tear them from my body. I can't imagine how satisfying it will be to pull them off tomorrow.

At least I feel like we're getting good data. I was worried I might go the whole period without any symptoms, but I've been running around so much it felt like an amateur stress test.