November 28th, 2005


(no subject)

Dear lower back:

Die, you bastard, die. No, wait, don't. That would make things difficult. Live, damn you, live! Or at least react when I do things like take ibuprofen to make you feel better so I can, say, bend over to pick things up.

Is this your way of telling me to get back into yoga? You know that's about the only form of exercise (other than swimming, if that's what you want to call it) that I can tolerate for a decent period to time without getting bored, and that I need to get exercising again to keep myself from looking like a blob at the wedding. HOWEVER. There are better, nicer ways of telling me this than SEIZING UP all freakin' weekend, with it getting worse the closer it got to Monday. Then again, this could be your way of telling me that today would be hell, and that you were scared. I understand - the mail room can be a scary place the Monday after a four-day weekend, especially when the reigning Mail God is out this week. There, there, it'll be ok.

Now knock it the hell off. I'm pulling out the yoga mat tonight.