Wednesday, July 04, 2012

Knackt

Crippled. Crippled, I am, with back-gah.

They never say in the manual that bending down to pick up €1.90, for the bus trip into town, can result in a twinge so hostile that the air around oneself might turn cobalt.

They don't say that.

This was meant to be the good day, the one to bookend a series of days so full of efforts to improve one's station that it'd leave a man sleepless, restless, fretful, nervous.

It was meant to be a day of coffee, the couch and O Captain My Captain, but it's been sundered by shooting pains above the buttocks and the inability to stop third-personing oneself.

And repetition. The repetition. I'm like that terrible writer EL James that I keep scoffing so much about, though I've barely been able to read a sentence of her work.

This is not the good day, not the day of self indulgence I had greedily planned, but a Wednesday where I realise that the noise that old men make will happen to us all.

4 comments:

Green of Eye, Sharp of Claw said...

Hot bath. add Epsom salt. sit until skin is wrinkly and muscles relaxed.

Radge said...

I will be trying that tonight, after cursing the gods of back pain a thousand times.

Kath Lockett said...

"Ooof!"

Happens to be the way I start most days upon waking and deep heat is never far away....

Radge said...

Perfect noise for it.