What a Drag It Is Getting Old

So, first post of a new year, the ringing in of which was spent in the company of the other two weird sisters, a most enjoyable time, and what have I got to write about?  More bitching and kvetching, naturally.

I returned home from the New Year’s festivities on Monday, with a full plate of work for Tuesday.  I’m in the middle of a business re-boot, so lots of things are demanding attention all at once.  I get up Tuesday morning, start going about my business, and whammo – my back goes out.  Not just out, but out worse than it’s ever gone out.  For years I’ve commiserated with fellow sufferers whose pains are more lingering, always adding with complete sincerity that I realized how lucky I was that so far, I’d been able to immediately stretch the worst of it away after these incidents, being left with only some residual soreness for a few days.  Always, always when relating this, I’ve secretly hoped that I wasn’t jinxing myself, though in reality we all know that, past a certain age, these things don’t get better; they only get worse.

These are the types of experiences that make you question your life choices.  Such as, the decision to live alone.

I was on the bathroom floor, cold travertine, for at least 20 minutes, before really attempting to move.  I found I couldn’t even crawl on all fours; I had to drag myself on the floor.  Meanwhile, my work phone starts ringing out in the kitchen.  As if.  Resigning myself to my fate, I dragged myself to the bed and somehow endured the exquisite pain required to get into it.  And then stayed there for most of the day. 

But things are getting better.  On Tuesday, I couldn’t even roll over in bed without some major planning, effort, and pain.  Wednesday, I was able to get up and walk some, Thursday I was able to sit on the couch if I was in just the right position and today I’m able to sit for over an hour in a desk chair.  The jacuzzi tub has been put to heavy use for the past 3 days and for this alone it has been worth having for the past 7 years.

But I gotta say – I do subscribe to the notion that a lot of back injury is stress-related.  My stress levels were through the roof in November and December and were combined with a lot of physical work; then I got into a car with broken-down 13-year-old seats and drove 530 miles to Atlanta and 530 miles back – this was due to happen.  I’ve chosen to think of it as an enforced time-out; I came home to a bunch of stuff that all demands immediate attention and I wasn’t quite yet prepared to deal with it.  After a few days of enforced doing nothing, my mental state has recovered sufficiently that I’m ready to move on – at least with the stuff that doesn’t require me to move around a lot.

That, plus I keep telling myself that any year that starts out the way this one has is bound to end on a higher note.

I’ll get back later with reports on the 3 weird sisters’ New Year’s extravaganza, and maybe even some photos if I can figure out how to load them.  I will just add that through this physical ordeal, Kyle’s leftover collards have been a real comfort.