Blather Making Fun Of People War Wounds

The Butt Of The Joke… Is Mine.

Things happen to me. Weird things. Injuries that no normal person would ever have to worry about. Insects bite me and leave bruises that make it look like I’ve been punching telephone poles. Cats dart under my feet, causing me to land face-first on doorsteps. I give myself black eyes with inanimate objects like telephones (while sober). It’s no surprise, then, that I often find myself the butt of a joke that only I am laughing at.

Last night, I had a bit of whiskey. I’ve been on a bit of a jag this week, really–but it wasn’t the whiskey’s fault. It would have happened with or without whiskey. These sorts of injuries are determined to happen to me, regardless of the circumstances.

I got home late, maybe three-thirty. I was tired, and as soon as I walked into my room, I dropped everything I was carrying and went to change into my pajamas. I keep my dirty laundry in my closet, so after I took off my pants, I walked across my room toward the closet to throw my pants in the basket. So there I was, pantless, shuffling across my slidey floor in my big cozy winter socks, and I went to avoid stepping on something that was on my floor and I lost my balance, stumbling and falling backwards into a large plastic storage bin that was in the middle of my room (filled, thankfully, with laundry and not something less forgiving). When I landed in the bin, there was a loud cracking noise, and the bin splintered into jagged pieces, several of which gouged chunks out of my skin, the largest and most painful of which was right in the middle of my left butt cheek.

I broke a plastic box with my butt. And it broke my butt back. The damn thing drew blood. And as anyone who’s ever been spanked can tell you, the skin on the posterior is among the most sensitive on the human body. It hurts to sit down, even on cushioned surfaces. Hot water is excruciating. I can’t put anything in my left back pocket. I have a bruise the size, color, and shape of a ripe plum. I look like I’ve been punched in the ass by a midget.

I laugh at myself a lot, and the moment of impact was no exception. I sat in the laundry bin for two or three minutes–stunned, cut up, bruised and pantless–and I laughed. I laughed until tears came to my eyes. It felt good. And I couldn’t wait to tell the story so that I could make someone else laugh. I thought to myself that my father would have laughed, too. And had he still been alive, he would be the first person I’d have called–though I probably would have left out the part about being pantless.

In the morning I woke up, whiskey-headed and groggy, and when I went to sit up in bed, I felt the sharp pain in my patookus and remembered and laughed until I cried all over again. And then I called my friend Sarah and brightened her morning with my story of a busted buttocks.

Health War Wounds Work

Side Effects May Include Hallucinatory Itching

So I’m back to the Vicodin again. This time it’s my shoulder. Of course I have no idea what happened, as I’m prone to frequent mystery injuries, and this particular hurt, which I’m starting to think is a pinched nerve because my fingers keep hurting or going numb, could have come from pretty much anything I do on a regular basis (waitressing, bartending, sleeping screwed up in weird positions as though I’ve been dropped). It’s as though I’ve got the point of an arrow lodged in the center of my shoulder blade; when I move, the pain shoots down my arm. I tried to do the ‘child pose’ this morning in hopes to stretch something out, but when I stood up I could barely breathe due to the pain.

It feels like I’ve got a broken wing–but, then, I’ll be the first to tell you I’m no angel.

And the cold–this October chill which I so dearly love, which occasions the digging out of beloved sweaters and the excessive consumption of tea–the cold is crippling me with tension. I just want to stand in a hot shower for hours, but the water eventually runs cold, and there I am again. The sun comes out on the porch for a few minutes and I bask in it, letting it heat up the back of my black sweatshirt, and for a few minutes, the pain subsides.

So it goes.