It feels like there is a river of molten lava running under my right shoulder blade. Whenever I turn my head to the left, it feels like the lava is going to just fucking erupt right out of my back.
I swallow enough Aleve to give a horse liver damage, and the pain subsides a little. I'm going to downgrade the pain from "excruciating" to just plain "agonizing."
I realize that I can't go to a chiropractor, I've got a meeting today at noon at work with Margo and the steering committee of the Mystery Project. I call this guy Lisa goes to, Dr. Bobby, and make an appointment for 3 PM. I'm happy he's open.
The shower is agony. I try to wash my hair but the red hot stitch of pain in my shoulder nearly brings me to tears. The hydro-massage showerhead pounds away at my injured back uselessly. My skin is mostly bulletproof; pulsating showers don't really cut it.
I'm not sure what the dress code is, so I gingerly pull myself into a sports jacket and slacks and limp towards my car.
Note to self: never try to stop a twenty-story fall with one arm.
It's like Bridget Jones' Diary, but with a super-powered vigilante.
November 26, 2004
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1 comment:
Smart man. Never try to stop a twenty-story fall with one arm.
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