No One Knows My Pain

I’m a wreck.  Emotionally, obviously, but that’s not really anything new.  Physically, however … well, that’s not really new, either, but I have had a few incidents as of late that have me hurting a bit more than usual.

Firstly, at last week’s softball game, I was hustling out a weak-ass grounder smokin’ hot liner to 3rd, knowing that my efforts were of great importance, as our team had pulled to within 15 runs, and we were down to our last couple of outs.  Keep the rally alive, baby!  So I reached the bag, stumbling somewhat, as our game didn’t begin until 9:00 pm, and I some idiot thought it would be a good idea to bring a bunch of beer beforehand, and I tripped and went careening through the air, turning at least three airborne summersets before landing squarely on my shoulder.  I now have quite the contusion, and am generally unable to move my arm about without squealing in pain like a little girl.  So I don’t want to hear from any mothers about how horrible childbirth is, because this hurt pretty dang bad.

Secondly, the Cinco de Mayo Booze Cruize was held on, oddly enough, May 5th.  The CdMBC is a short bicycle outing during which riders travel to a number of bars in the downtown area, enjoying the day and raising money for a good cause.  (Bike O’ The Day:  a couch set upon two frames, welded together side-by-side, carrying the owner and his dog.  Brilliant.)  The person with whom I was riding got a flat tire, and we were forced to walk … WALK! … for quite a distance.  Those are muscles that, quite honestly, do not get a lot of use, and they are reminding me in an excruciating fashion of the meaning of the word “atrophy.”

Thirdly, I have (had?) a splinter of unknown origin in my thumb.  I’m not sure if it’s still there, as I took a needle and gouged out all of the flesh around it, so that now there’s a Grand Canyonesque gash there, and I’m not sure if it hurts because of the splinter or because of the damage done by my autosurgical urges.  Stupid splinter.

Lastly, I went to a friend’s house for jambalaya on the lawn the other day, which was extremely lovely, save for the fact that she has a tree with a large branch that’s exactly ½” lower than the top of my head, into which I ran multiple times, drawing blood from my skull at least twice.  I’m fairly certain that she rented that house for that exact reason, though I have no way of proving it.  But I know.  Oh, I know.

Softball, walking, splinters, jambalaya feeds … life truly is fraught with danger.  Maybe all those people who tell me that I need to wear a helmet everywhere have a point.