I threw out my fucking left shoulder. The fuck. I mean, fuck!
It’s just a normal muscle strain, not like the insane neuro-psycho-musculo-pendejo problm on the right, which oddly was fixed almost completely, after a year, by stretching once.
But damn, it’s a bad one. I am unable to fucking do anything without swearing like a fucking longshoreman, and a few times I just had to sit the fuck down and feel sorry for myself before I could get anything done.
If I stand in a position that’s somewhere between “cricket bowler” and “drunk flaming gay guy waving at you” it doesn’t hurt.
Here’s to the thing going away in a day or do so I don’t have to [redacted] [redacted] from [redacted] out of sure frustration.
Anyway I’m driving Bob to the VA for an injection today, so at least I know I don’t have a 40 year old unkillable bacterium in my eye trying to blind me, like him.
The fuck, though. FUCK.
When your preset synth track is played at 48K instead of 44.1K, do not attempt to play bravely through. No one and no thing can save you.
I know, I know, I’m just pictures and links lately. Lazy.
I can’t stand “adventurer” tycoons and I enjoy laughing at them. Yesterday’s news was a massive win, as Virgin egomaniac Richard Branson tries without success to be extreme.
Branson Attempts Wacky Bungee Stunt, Whacks Own Ass Many Times Instead
The Daily Mail has more fine pictures including Billionaire Split Pants.
If the Medical Establishment doesn’t get its ass in gear by about, oh, noon tomorrow and deal with my problem I am going to carry out the first completely left-handed mass murder in history. Currently I have had no useful help from my “primary” internal medicine physician, a physical therapy clinic, a neurologist, and a pharmacy. My best improvements have come from Home Science investigating my shoulder and what makes it feel better. I have, I think, successfully diagnosed a rotator cuff inflammation or tear. If they’d just fucking tell me whether it’s a tear or not I’d write them a check.
Last week the neurologist, who is currently “investigating” me and ordered the MRI, was out of town. No one told me this and I was leaving increasingly testy messages on his scheduler’s voicemail. She didn’t call me back. Finally I called the internal medicine office, because he’d said: If they don’t call back, don’t worry. The doctor is great but the office is a nightmare. Call me. Two minutes after that call, the schedule for the neurologist called me back. Why is this all being done Soviet style?
Currently I am self-medicating with alcohol. Yes, I know that’s stupid. Tomorrow I shall explain to any doctor who answers or returns my calls that I am sliding into Under the Volcano and I need either medically approved relief or a plan for fixing the problem:
preferably necessarily both.
Otherwise I will show up wild-eyed and unshaven at the emergency room demanding some combination of opiates, steroids, acupuncture, inaccupuncture. sodomy, and surgery. I’ve had it! So, it’ll be fixed I’m sure.
Finally I’d like to say that I have only been reading back a screen or so a day of the LJ because after I’ve done work and blathered my own posts and had 8.9 margaritas and hugged the cat I still can’t do that much web browsing without flailing and moaning in pain. Yes, that’s self-pity. Yes, it’s for real.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: bodies are overrated.
Shoulder somewhat better but still fucked up. I have a very odd sensation in there, almost an itch, and I’m all spasmy. I’d make a great deformed murderer from an old movie right now, a la Peter Lorre.
I see a physical therapist on Friday. Per hensatc‘s recommendation I am going to a place where all the clinical staff are also certified athletic trainers: Prosport Physical Therapy. I hope they’ll forgive me for being very unathletic.
Since I mostly buy stuff on the internet now, I get the Joy of Package Delivery often. I really like getting a parcel and opening it. Today I got two Pendleton shirts and some geekbooks I need for work.
If I haven’t read and commented on you lately, it’s not ’cause I hate you, it’s ’cause I am reserving my limited typing endurance for work.
My shoulder is trashed. It really hurts, just about all the time. Doctor on Friday. I feel like an idiot for not going weeks ago when it wasn’t that bad. I hope I don’t have double secret rotator cuff explosion requiring Civil War surgery with a saw.
I have a bad habit of doing the boiled frog and making something like this normal until I suddenly realize that it’s very abnormal. In this case I was feeling a bit nauseated from pain and unable to find a comfortable position ever before I called the doctor. Doh.
Ow ow, OW.
Going from a half dose of two antidepressants to no dose of any antidepressant is a ride. And by “ride” I mean “rusty Tilt-A-Swing-A-Clank-A-Whirl operated by carnies at the County Fair.”
I woke up at 3:30 pm today feeling hung over. The day went slowly for three hours while caffeine and my last remaining head pill (Adderall) took effect and I got some minor stuff done and dorked. I showered, felt better, and needed to go for groceries; my brother was arriving for a visit for a few days and a full larder was a necessity.
Then I went to Trader Joes to get food. As I was checking out my stuff I got the sweats, blurry vision, stomach upset, headache, and total exhaustion. It was like a sugar low plus jet lag plus the flu, all at once.
I made it home, stuffed the freezer and fridge things in their place, and told my brother and mom that there was easy food there for them to eat. I then drank a liter of Orangina and ate some yogurt and collapsed.
There’s a Dead Man’s Party in my hippocampus and you’re all invited!