For the first time in my life, I’ve dealt with back problems this last week. It probably has something to do with the fact that I don’t have a good office chair and have refused to buy one before our move to Montana in June. This means that I run my freelance writing business form 1) the Salvation Army chair that looks pretty nice but feels like I paid $10 for it, which is true 2) the free sofa bed in our living room that forces you to slouch and 3) my bed. It seems like as much as I mix up these three environments, it feels like I’ll have a hunchback by, say, Thursday.
The strange thing is that back pain isn’t the worst aspect of back pain. The worst aspect of back pain is that it immediately transforms you into a crotchety 80-year-old man. One moment I notice that my back was hurting, the next moment I was yelling for the kids in the street to keep it down. One moment I was feeling a little achy, the next moment I was hobbling down the street and mumbling to myself about the hardships of life. It’s as if the low-grade but constant and aggravating pain seeps into your overall view of life and the world.
If this pattern continues, I predict that tomorrow I will be wearing tube socks (one pulled almost up to my spotted knee, the other hanging loosely around my ankle) and telling long yarns about the very first horseless carriage I saw back in aught-nine.
Recent Comments