Doesn't
everyone swear in French Canadian when they get hurt?
So while
skydiving bungee jumping okay fine towelling off Friday, I tweaked my back. And by tweaked, I mean fucked it up real bad. After crying naked on the bathroom floor a while, feeling sorry for myself (I was alone), I managed to drag my sorry, damp, ass to the medicine cabinet. I took a bunch of Advil, Robaxicet and rubbed some Lakota on it for good measure. Today is Thursday and it still feels delicate. The chiropractor took a whack at it, trying to manhandle it into place but it still feels like it may go again at any minute. You know it's bad when I had to skip not one but 2 dragonboat practices. Merde.
All that to say to you youngsters
don't get old.
As it's throwback Thursday, I thought I'd share this old post about how I nearly
committed justifiable homicide on Scott one time when he was sick. I think the secret of a long marriage is being able to curb those murderous impulses, don't you?
kxx
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