Being, Nothingness, and the Clinic Across from the Arbeitsamt

I'm reading Sartre's "Being and Nothingness" for the fourth or fifth time, or, I should say, trying to read it.  It has always given me a headache.  It's a definitive work on twentieth century existentialism, but it doesn't really appeal to the zenman in me.  The intellectual persona, however, insists.

Ive got hand therapy this afternoon, followed by computer thermography on the leg to find out what I pulled, pushed, or otherwise knocked out of alignment a few years back.  The neurologist and the neurosurgeon are both of the opinion it can be fixed with therapy without an operation.  We'll soon know.