I am writing this on the third day of a bad week, well not quite a week, but if it goes on much longer I can call it a week.
Bad weeks start innocently enough for most people, usually, I guess, on a Monday.
The Monday-thing is not normally a thing for me, given the way I work, well not really work, sort of follow my hobbies and wonder where the money comes from.
It all started when I woke up, not unusual in itself, because I often do that, but never before have I woken with my right leg twisted at such an angle. My left, sure, but my left has a life of its own and normally the right stays swell clear.
At first it seemed fine and I lay there marvelling at its flexibility, but when the pain hit I marvelled at its inflexibility.
Those of you who suffer regular pain, like my life’s partner, Hildegard, she of the terminal back-thing, well know that pain can cause grumpiness, irritability, irascibility but rarely, at least in our case, infidelity.
Normally when I wake I get up, it seems to help me get things done, so I did, but forgot to do my neck bends. A day without neck bends is bad enough, because it sets me up for neck-stabs which lead to neck stiffness, which leads to instability.
That was two false starts, so I gave up on the normal round of floor and standing exercises, deciding breakfast was the way to go. Go it did, all over the kitchen table and some made its way to the floor.
I’m ok with eating recently prepared debris and sucking up soy-milk off a table, but our floor hadn’t been ironed in a while and I couldn’t sort out the breakfast debris from the other debris.
Sorry, not ironed, we don’t iron our kitchen floor, slate is not a thing you iron, what I meant was swept. Well there was that one time, a long time ago, but I was heavily medicated and my father-in-law was visiting.
I’m not sure about you, but after I have eaten early in the morning this seems to lead to the other thing that is a logical consequence of eating. I don’t think I need to go into detail here but if you require it, please consult your local doctor.
Nothing untoward happened in the small room, but on leaving it, I forgot to flush it, not the room, you don’t flush rooms, well not in our house, but the water-thing that sits above the place that holds the debris.
Not a pretty thing for the nose when you happen upon such debris later in the day. After opening the small-room door you usually stumble backward and hit your head on the shelving above the washing machine, which is exactly what happened.
After all this, a person really needs their computer system to collapse, just to remind them how important it has become in their lives and how incompetent and insignificant they will feel when it has been removed by the technicians who shake their heads as they carry it down the driveway without a definite promise of a return date. Which is exactly what happened.
Over the years, due to an inability to cope with bad days in the manner taught me by a Zen Master, I have sore feet, as a result of kicking things that don’t kick back and generally stay where they are, like brick walls and granite outcrops.
When I arrived at the podiatrist for my appointment she said: “Well, you have the right month, and year, but it’s next week.” Her reception desk was made of a flimsy material and I decided against kicking it.
I tried to drive home but the car wouldn’t start.
I called home but Hildegard was busy ironing the patio.
My son, Hansl, said he would come and pick me up as soon as he remembered where I lived.
It was then I realised how important getting out of bed is, because if you get out wrong and the feeling lingers the wrongness will infiltrate the entire day, polluting it with its venom and nastiness and by the end, even though six things went right, you will not have noticed them, or their cousins, the almost right and, as far as you will be concerned, the world is the work of the devil and you are the only one who can see him.
Thanks for that. I feel better now. Not quite a week, just the three days. Good luck with your week
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