So it's the dreaded second day after having fallen down several stone steps, and as predicted I'm in way more pain today than yesterday. I feel like I've spent some time in an industrial clothes dryer. Maybe this is what it feels like to get your ass righteously kicked, an experience I've thankfully been able to avoid, despite going through school as a fat kid with a smart mouth.
Either way, I'm not moving unless I have to, because moving the right side of my body produces a moment when the good Lord sees fit to rear back and kick me a good one in the ribs, as hard as He can. This happens with any movement, be that movement of my body or my bowels.
It hurts like hell to laugh, but then again this sort of thing reduces by orders of magnitude any desire to laugh - indeed to take any pleasure in anything - so I guess I really lucked out there.
I'd like to extend a special thank you to those of you who saw fit to ridicule me throughout this little ordeal of mine - "those of you" in this case being synonymous with "all of you fuckers," including Tootsie, who took her shots, and perhaps most humblingly, Ursa Sucrosum, who despite being 30 years my junior has bestowed the nickname "Stair Master" upon me. This will reflect poorly in any mention of him in my will.
So here shall I sit this weekend, watching shit like the World's Strongest Man competition because it hurts to get the remote, underfed and underwatered, with only an almost inexhaustible supply of decent herb to keep me company and to give me incentive to remain as motionless as possible.
Take pity on my wicked soul.