Reporting Live From My Bed

            You know how whenever you’re about to lift something heavy, one of your parents will scream “Lift with your KNEES, not with your BACK!”? Even if you’re home alone, and both your parents live in completely different states, whenever you’re bracing yourself to lift something heavy, one of your parents will drop down from the ceiling Spiderman-style to scream “Lift with your KNEES, not with your BACK!” (I’d bet my pain pills you see where this is going.)

            Last Friday I had to lift up the lawnmower to get it out of the garage, and apparently both my parents were taking the day off from their superpowers, so I thought “Fuck it, variety is the spice of life.” So I bent, reached, and lifted, and then I heard something rip behind me. I thought I’d torn my jeans until I tried to straighten up and pain knifed through my back.

            So anyway, I’ve spent the past week immobile on my back, tripping absolute balls on a home-mixed concoction of muscle relaxants and anti-anxiety drugs. I don’t generally endorse playing pharmacist at home, but look, my alternative involves literally screaming in pain every time I move - and to head off your next question, of course I’m not going to the doctor; doctors are for pansies.

            On the upside, I had some dental work on Monday and I was all hopped up on my own personal go-go juice of Valium and Xanax while the nice man was drilling on me and baby, I felt fiiiiiine. Also, my dentist has one of those nice roll-y massage-y chairs, because my dentist might actually be a literal saint, and I’ve even said so when I wasn’t off my face on pills.

            Even so, I am so incredibly bored. Day one of lazing in bed was luxurious. Day seven is torture. I’m watching old episodes of Jonathan Creek and playing Sudoku on my phone and while these are generally my favorite things in the world to do, I’d trade it all to be able to take my dogs for a walk.