"The art of life is the art of avoiding pain." - Thomas Jefferson
I have not written because I am doped up on flexeril and percocet. My mouth and my brain no longer connect to make full distinguishable sentences. Why you asked? Let's just say I have possibly herniated a disk by going to war with my vacuum cleaner...And it won.
I have rigged up my alarm clock to set on the end of the bed post so I can press the snooze button in the morning with my big toe so I do not have to roll over and hit the button, thus sending an electrified jolt of pain in to my back, and into my ass. Bruce thinks I have lost my mind as he watches me rig up my incredible system, and says "Maybe you should lay off the percocet." I however think it is pure genius and want to make a patented alarm clock bed stand and toe friendly alarm clock. Then I have my PMS moment and think " Why am I doing this, why doesn't he press the snooze button in the morning. Why is the alarm clock on my side of the bed." I give him "the look" and he doesn't know why I am giving him "the look" and it makes me mad because he should be able to read my mind and understand the true dimensions of "the look"by now.
The worst of this whole thing was going to my doctor and getting weighed and telling the nurse "Your scale cannot possibly be calibrated right..." then the nurse...gives me "the look"
3 days of pain pills I go back to the gym to prove to everyone I am tough and can work through the pain, and no way am I going to turn into a fatty. 3 hours later the pills wore off, and I'm sulking on the couch like baby, and though a tearful confession I am 32 years old and yes I do want my mommy right about now.
Pathetic.
Latte'
Heidi
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