I had an inexplicably weird evening/night Saturday.

Elvi, Child 1, and I went to see “The Lego Movie” out our local second-run dollar theatre (really $2.50).

It was amazing. Really. I think it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in the last, oh, 10 years or so. It is a deep story, profound yet funny around the edges. It could just be me.

The movie touched me. I’m not exactly sure why. I was in the dark next to my daughter with tears runinng down my face.

So I’m tearing up in the theatre and I’m not sure why this movie is having such an effect on me.

I’m not really a crier. It’s unusual.

We’re in the minivan on the way home and I’m really sad.

And I think of something to make me happy and I think of people I enjoy talking to (Yes, they exist.)

And I think of the dumb luck that throws people together. Dumb, stupid luck.

And then my terrible brain starts to think that the same agent of stupid, dumb luck could cleave friendships just as easily and it depresses me. I go from sad to depressed.

That’s what my brain does to me sometimes. It can be a lot more pessimistic than I am.

We get home and the plan is to make pizza for supper. Elvi asks me to make my pizza sauce.

I get out the tomato sauce, garlic, pepper, and basil (my secret ingredient) and look for the oregano. I find the container. There’s only half a teaspoon left and I need two tablespoons.

At this point, this is feeling like a disaster all out of proportion to what it is, but Elvi tells me that there’s fresh oregano in the garden.

She can tell something isn’t right with me. She gets a handful of fresh oregano and chops it up. I throw it in the sauce, mix it up, and I can’t take anymore.

I go upstairs. I cry for half an hour. It just comes out. I think the last time I cried like this was when Elvi’s father John died 12 years ago.

John died suddenly, of an embolism in his garden. He and Child 3 (two years old at the time) had grown such a special bond in thos etwo years. John and Marjory provided grandparently day care for Children 2 and 3. John was really the only grandfatherly influence Child 3 knew since my father lived in the Bahamas and we saw him only twice a year or so.

My dad had an undetectable stroke in 2009 or 2010. We knew something was wrong when he was in town for Child 2’s bat-mitzvah but his was a slow decline. I saw it, though, and I made the effort to say a special goodbye to him when he left Montreal for the Bahamas. I had a hunch.

Sure enough, he was in the hospital by the end of the July, and his life tapered off until it finally ended with him dying in a vegetative state here in Montreal 17 months later.

But the thing is, I had already said goodbye when he was well. I had the closure. I always felt like it was a merciful end when he finally succumbed. I was the only one in the room when he died at 4 a.m.

So I had the closure and no real grief. He hadn’t been concious for days. He hadn’t been a human being for a year.

I don’t want to ruin the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it but there’s a father-son theme to it that I think has hit me like a ton of bricks.

I’m finally crying for my dad.

I think. I could just be a maudlin idiot.

I didn’t figure out why until today.

My hamstring is improving. Elvi and a friend wanted to go dancing Saturday night so I went with them, expecting to sway at best. Once “Bizarre Love Triangle” came on, though, all bets were off.

Gosh, I enjoy New Order. Sorry for the 6:50 break. I had to listen to this:

Anyway, my leg held up fine under the compression bandage I put on. I wasn’t even sore Sunday.

There hasn’t been any pain at all in my hamstrings and I stopped taking the Naproxen. I have a more or less constant cramp somewhere in my left buttock. Nevertheless, I feel like I could run – but I won’t try that. I will tell my physiotherapist when I see her Thursday that I can definitely expand the rehab exercises.

Sorry to bury the lead, but I’m improving mentally, too. Having exhausted nearly all possibilities for why I’ve been so tired for the last few years, I decided to see id it could be the citalopram I was taking.

I’d read about withdrawal symptoms and I was intrigued by one often described as a buzzing in the head that tends to occur on quitting the drug cold turkey.

So I quit cold turkey.

I didn’t have a constant buzzing but I can confirm that that is a good description. For about two weeks, it felt like every once in a while someone would turn up the volume on a static generator inside my head. It wasn’t painful or even irritating. It was just… there. But I wasn’t so tired anymore!

When I told my GP about my experiment, he just shook his head slowly. He’s great. We decided to try Wellbutrin, which he said is a stimulant.

So far, the Wellbutrin is working somewhat. It’s taken the edge off but I’m not as content as I was on the citalopram. I am, however, accomplishing quite a bit more. It’s a trade-off.

I spend most Thursday nights from May to October playing flag football. Even though I’m old and slower than I used to be, I still have my moments of brilliance.

I was in the midst of one such moment a few nights ago. At the line of scrimmage, I reached back and caught a pass that was off-target behind me. The defender covering me came at me slightly to the outside, so I spun inside and blew by him.

Of course, the middle of the field was crowded and I knew I’d lose a flag there – but not before I turned a loss into a gain of seven to ten yards.

Just as I was flagged, my body started hopping on my right leg. Two hops in, I knew why. I suddenly felt pain in my left thigh. It wasn’t excruciating but I could tell something was wrong and that I was through for the night.

I’d felt the slightest twinge in my left hamstring the week before but it went away. I’d thought it was standard soreness. It returned early in Thursday’s game and I sat out a bit to let it calm before going back in. I should have listened to the warning signs because I tore my hamstring, probably not completely. My though was swollen by the time I drove home, wincing every time I had to press the clutch.

I’m assuming I suffered a hamstring tear with layman’s knowledge. My family doctor was away until Tuesday so I went to a walk-in clinic Friday morning where I was seen by possibly the worst physician I’ve ever met.

She asked me where it hurt and I showed her. She then said there’s nothing to do about muscle injuries, wrote a prescription for the anti-inflammatory Naproxen, and sent me away.

I was stunned. She didn’t even do a physical exam. I was too stunned to ask her to have a closer look or to write me a prescription for physiotherapy, which can help the muscle to heal properly with minimal scar tissue.

I’m sort of following the RICE paradigm of rest, ice, compression, and elevation. I don’t do the ice. I”m not good at resting, either. I hobbled with a cane to Elvi’s Choeur Maha concert last night.

Today there’s no pain unless I try to use the leg for more than walking – but I can walk. I can even go down stairs, albeit like a three-year-old who uses both feet on every step. I can even bend my leg, as long as I don’t try to push off with it. It’s mostly weakness now.

I guess I may have to go see my doctor on Tuesday to get a prescription for physiotherapy if our private insurance covers it if prescribed. That we’ll find out Monday.

Stupid body.

Bonus economy tip:

It’s cheaper to find a used printer on Kijiji or Craigslist than it is to replace the printhead in your old one, even considering the lost cost of the ink you already have going to waste.