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You Know the ‘Good Kind of Hurt’? Well, This Ain’t It, Dammit

Christ, I’m falling apart.

Somehow today, without knowing quite when or how, I pulled a muscle in my back, right below my left shoulder blade. It hurts when I do various things — like shrug, for instance, or blink, or think about ponies. But it seems to be most painful when I sigh heavily. And since it happened at work, I did a lot of heavy sighing. A lot of heavy, painful, pitiful sighing. Ouchies.

Then, just a few minutes ago, sitting in the floor in my living room, I did… well, something. To my groinal region. I’m not sure what, exactly, I did, or how it happened — all I know is that lifting my left leg is not a good idea right now. It feels like my hip is wiggly down there somehow, like I shimmied when I should have shook. Or twisted when I meant to twirl. Or wiggled my watusi in not quite the right way.

(Of course, some would tell you that there’s no good way in which to ‘wiggle your watusi’. I don’t buy into that personally, but I do believe that if you wiggle it more than twice, you’re just playing with it. And you’ll probably need a towel. Ick.)

Anyway, like I said, I’m falling apart. For any of you still younger than my thirty-four years of age, I really can’t recommend it. You should probably find some way of avoiding this age, if you ask me. Maybe sleep from thirty-two or so right up into your forties, when people apparently start telling you that you look ‘distinguished’.

(Now, on the other hand, people just say things like, ‘What the hell happened to you?‘ and ‘Hey, didn’t you used to be Charlie?‘ Oh, and, ‘What is that, hair coming out of there? For Chrissakes, shave that thing!‘ Yeah, that’s gotta be my favorite.

People. I never did like people, anyway. Bunch of bitches.)

But I think I’m gonna take it easy tonight. No running up and down the stairs, or stripping naked and doing the hokey-pokey on the porch for the neighbors. And there’ll be no shaking it like a Polaroid picture tonight, either.

(Not that there ever is, really. I don’t have the rhythm needed to ‘shake it like a Polaroid picture’, I’m afraid. I’m lucky if I can jiggle it like an Etch-a-Sketch. Yeah, they don’t let me on the dance floor any more. Too much collateral damage.)

In any case, the point is that I’m gonna try to rest up tonight, and hopefully come back as good as new tomorrow. Or at least as good as my tired wrinkly old thirtysomething self gets, which is far from ‘as new’, dammit. I lost that ‘new car smell’ quite a while back. And you really don’t want to know what odor replaced it. Trust me.

Anyway, there’s no guarantee that a night of rest and sleep will do anything for me at this point. At my age, I’m just as likely to wake up with a sprained wrist, or stiff neck, or missing a leg. Honestly, it’s a new ailment every day, it seems. Only today, it was two. The old skinbag I live in must be doubling up for Mondays now. Oh, frigging joy. Maybe I’ll get to look forward to this every week. Meh.