yesterday ...

Yesterday? Not so much. Because yesterday was one long experiment in pain. How much will it hurt to walk? To roll over? To stand up? My back was bad in the morning and it quickly degenerated throughout the day. It felt like metal bands were being tightened around my hips and across my lower back, with a shiny little star of pain just right of centre. I was walking around like an old man with his careful sideways steps, like some world burglar not up to the job. Chest out and tipped: I was like Redd Foxx creaking around the stage, all agony and expletives and tottering rage. In short: I was fucked.

*Sigh*. This seems to happen every month or two. I guess it goes with the territory of being tall, and getting older.

C didn't really understand until I cancelled my studio night. And she didn't really *really* get it until she watched me make three attempts to sit up. But then she dug out some muscle relaxants, and I finally got a decent night's sleep.

And today I'm on the mend, and the atrocity exhibition is closing out. I just have to remember to get out of my chair every 30 minutes or so, or I'll seize up completely.

(By the way: if you're ever moved by curiosity to look up this book ... well, don't. It's fucking crazy. It's 150 pages of self-title paragraphs. Here's a sample:
Dissociation: Who Laughed at Nagasaki? Travis ran across the broken concrete to the perimeter fence. The helicopter plunged towards him, engine roaring through the trees, its fans churning up a storm of leaves and paper. Twenty yards from the fence Travis strumbled among the coils of barbed wire. The helicopter was banking sharply, the pilot crouched over the controls. As Travis ran forward the shadows of the diving machine flickered around him like cryptic ideograms. Then the craft pulled away and flew off across the bunkers. When Travis reached the car, holding the torn knee of his trousers, he saw the young woman in the white dress walking down the lane. Her disfigured face looked back at him with indulgent eyes. Travis started to call to her, but stopped himself. Exhausted, he vomited across the roof of his car.
And who is this young woman in the white dress? It's Marilyn Monroe, scorched by radiation burns. Of course.)


  1. You're right, I didn't really get how bad the pain was until you cancelled studio night. But you're pretty stoic, you know. I could have shot muscle relaxants through the air with an air gun while you spoke, hoping one would eventually ram its way down your throat, and you would have said to stop making a fuss.

  2. Oh...poor you. Back pain is horrible. Thank heavens for the drugs

  3. hmmm better living through chemistry! Hope your back gets better soon. Back pain sucks for lack of a better word that is pc

  4. ow! deep empathy!

  5. that souNds like a painful day...- not good-wish you are on the mend and fast!-
    annamaria :)


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