Wednesday, March 27, 2013


(Note:  This entry contains whiny venting, and is full of first world problems and hyperbolic language, and has been written primarily for the purposes of finding some amount of humor mixed in with the petty annoyances.  This is part of how I deal with problems.  It’s not an invitation to tell me how much worse off other people are and how there are real injustices in the world and so on.  Just read about my pain and laugh at it with me.  Or just laugh directly at me.  Whichever.)

A while back while doing squats one morning I completely wrecked my back.  Fortunately, I did so on a Friday, and by the time Monday rolled around I was sufficiently pain-free to get back to working out.  (Note:  “Fortunately”)
However, over the course of the next several weeks I kept noticing increasing levels of twinges.  Nothing debilitating, just minor, transient annoyances.
In time, however, they proved to be sort of cumulative, and I found myself living with an ever-worsening amount of pain and discomfort that made doing things – like just living – all-but impossible.
I didn’t really ease up on the working out, because honestly it didn’t seem to make a difference either way.  Working out didn’t make it hurt any more, and not working out didn’t make it hurt any less.
Besides, not working out isn’t really an option, because it’s become clear that I’m never more than a couple of days’ worth of laziness away from having my blood sugar levels spike out of control, and the old expression RE: damnation and the efficacy of taking action or not taking action kept springing to mind.
None of which did a lot to improve my mood.
This morning when I got up I decided that the hassle of not going to the chiropractor had officially begun to outweigh the hassle of going to the chiropractor, so I decided that I would head there after work.
In the meantime, however, I had to get through a day of not being able to do anything as strenuous as merely existing without being in pain.
All day long my body was saying, “Don’t sit like that!  Or like that!  Or like that!  Don’t stand up straight!  Don’t slouch!  Don’t stand at all!  No, don’t sit back down!  And if you think that it will help any to lie down…”
On top of that, upon arriving at work this morning I got out of my car and started walking out of the parking garage only to realize that I didn’t have my badge.  I couldn’t remember whether or not I grabbed it before I left home, so I headed back to my car on the off-chance that it had just fallen off while I was driving or getting out or something.
The parking spaces at work are rather narrow, so I didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver as I opened my car door, but to be honest, it doesn’t help that I didn’t maneuver at all.
What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?  I don’t know*, but I can tell you, or rather, show you what happens when a car door meets a forehead:

Good god; my complexion is positively Olmosian**.

This meant that, in addition to dealing with the discomfort that accompanies merely occupying space, I had to deal with explaining to people why I had a big fucking gash and bump on my forehead.
Of course, on the other hand, the fact that there were a lot of people who either didn’t notice – or didn’t care enough to ask about – the big fucking gash and bump on my forehead was kind of annoying in its own way.
As a special bonus, I’m going to have this gash on my forehead for a long, long time, because even though I work my ass off to keep my diabetes in check, my body is completely incompetent at healing itself.
Then there was the fact that, for the first time in the more than five years that I’ve been working there, I forgot my badge.  This wouldn’t be a big deal – I got a temporary one from security to get through the day – except for the fact that I know how my brain works and how it spontaneously forms new habits, so that means that I’m probably going to forget my badge every day from now on.
That’s really all it takes:  one random misfiring of a synapse and I’ve got a new habit.
As an example, back when I lived in Tucson, I was sitting in my car waiting for a friend, and I decided to roll down the window.  For some reason, instead of reaching for the handle to roll down the window, I reached forward to turn on the headlights.

It’s been over ten years since I lived in Tucson, and that was two cars ago, but to this day I will frequently catch myself reaching to turn on the lights when I want to roll down the window.
So, yeah.  The badge will be forgotten on a regular basis.
With all of this, and some other things that I won’t get into, but which largely involve my “artistic” endeavors, I told Scott, “I really wish there were a way to ragequit life without having to actually, you know, die.”
On a positive note, I did go to the chiropractor, and I can now manage to engage in such vigorous activities as continuing the lifelong process of decomposing with only a minimal amount of searing agony.
So, yay, I guess.  No ragequitting for me after all.
At least not today.

*This video actually explains what happens.
**As in Edward James Olmos.  Seriously, look at that sallow, doughy, pockmarked mess.  It's like a fat moon.  I think you can see where the Lunar Lander module was left behind by the Apollo mission if you zoom in.***
***I don't recommend zooming in.

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