The worst thing about sustained agony is how it addles your thoughts.
Here are some things I’ve thought about today:
Why is my hip pinching? Why can’t the pinch stay downstairs? Like galoshes, it’s…pain and galoshes. They belong in the front hall. Why are there galoshes in my bed?
If you’d bring me a rat…. (That was the whole thought. It played on loop for a while. I couldn’t seem to finish it. Couldn’t get to what might happen if I had a rat. It would go up my sleeve, probably. Rats always go up there. They like sleeves, rats…oh, I’m doing it again.)
I want I want I want I want I want I want I want…. (Couldn’t decide what I wanted. I think it might be a shower, but then my hair would be wet, and my pillow would get wet, and there’d be nowhere to put my head….)
I don’t like that noise. (There wasn’t any noise, or maybe there was, but by the time I’d got done hating it, it had stopped. Maybe I dreamt it. I was sleeping, or sort of sleeping, or wanting to sleep. Something sleep-adjacent.)
Then, for a while, I was picturing this great silver needle, like a dentist’s spike, but bigger. I pictured that working into my hip, right in the joint, there, and my pain washing away on a glorious tide of Novocaine….
It’s still there. Motherfucker. It’s still there.
I think I’ve slept all I can sleep. Oh, if I’ve got myself all backwards, thanks to this, if I spend the next six months sleeping all day and working all night…man, I hate that. It’s so annoying, with my phone pinging all day, and I’m trying to sleep, and it’s my boss, so I have to get it.
Get out of my bedroom. Mother told me you haven’t once asked after me, not once in all these years. Get out of my bedroom. Get out. Don’t come in. (…and then there was this dog, and it had its nose in the door so I couldn’t shut it out, and that was almost…no, that was certainly a dream.)
…a bunch of airport noises….
…the sense of having forgotten something….
…a brief attempt to draw a circle round the pain, narrow the circle to a point, and make it disappear.
…and now I’m awake. All the way awake.
I don’t like this.
I’m having a shower.
Fuck.
😦
All the… Well, everything.
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Ha, thanks for the everything. Does that include your soul? (devil emoticon)
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If it helps. P
But a doctor probably would be more useful.
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Well, yes. Yes. Only, I can’t take any painkillers stronger than Tylenol, due to annoying side effects, so a doctor might not help much either. A shower has been vaguely soothing, but my hair IS all wet. I’ll probably go back to sleep anyway.
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I’ve been trying to thing of something vaguely inspirational to say to that, but I think njnasekin’s comment pretty much sums my feelings too…
(…Trying to be somewhat useful…) Take the pillow off your bed and roll up a big-arse towel with a bag under it so you can sleep with wet hair?
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I should’ve done that, probably, but I just let my wet hair flop everywhere.
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Get yourself one of those plastic shower hats – then you can shower and keep your hair dry 😀
Sorry to hear you’re in pain though – I shan’t ask why but it can’t be easy. I’ll send you good vibes if that’ll help.
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No big mystery: I’m just middle-aged and full of aches. Ha, ha. I will consider the plastic shower hat, though.
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Pretty hard to think of you as Middle-aged… (Hell that means I MUST be!?!?)
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Well, I’m forty. Unless I live well into my hundreds, that makes me middle-aged.
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Pah! 40? You youngster!
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You sound like my mother. She’s creeping up on eighty and still considers herself middle-aged.
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Really?!? Woops – sorry! Nah I’m 42, I just feel like I’m 80…
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