Oh woe! A mere three weeks after all traces of the late-August backquake disappear, here we are again. My latest theory of the causes-and-effect relationships of this perennial nuisance is in tatters, but I have the germ of a new one.
My present indisposition is only about 5 on the Bachter Scale, i.e. stopping me doing anything physical I might want or need to do for perhaps one week, but no need for serious analgesia.
As is typical, Day 2 is worse than Day 1, but it is interesting to have it pointed out that my worst twinges and consequent yelps so far today have all followed negative statements.
Examples:
To Denise Sort-of Daughter on her getting up not feeling well, I said. “You look rough!” (twinge-yelp).
To Andrew Eldest Son the day after he landed a good job for which he can use his university education: “You’ve grown four inches since yesterday and your head barely fits the door frame.” (twinge-yelp).
To Stella Consort complaining at the idea of fish for dinner: “Stop being so faddy. You wouldn’t know there was fish in it if I didn’t tell you.” (twinge-yelp).
All these statements were meant kindly and in jest, so the pain wasn’t justified on any level of deserved punishment, but maybe I need to take heed. All previous back-related theories and diagnoses have proven to be flawed (no twinge-yelp that time. Statements of fact are presumably neither positive nor negative) so I’ll try a weekend of extreme positivity.
This morning I shall finish my feature on Stringer’s Brewery for submission to a suitable regional magazine AND HAVE IT ACCEPTED.
This afternoon I shall practice the mandolin ready for the jam session tonight with the other members of Snake and the Hoecakes AND WILL BE AWESOME.
After mando. practice I’ll create the best chowder ever AND PEOPLE WILL TALK ABOUT IT FOR YEARS TO COME.
And so on . . .
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