A post for etk.
I was out for my run this afternoon, which considering the
You see, back in December of 2007 I injured my back by being a
So, since that time, I've been to a few massage therapists, a doctor as well as trying my own bit of voodoo. Nothing worked. [I have since been studying "Myofascial Pain & Dysfunction: the trigger point manuals Vol. 1&2". Which is where I have discovered my calling. To do more clinical work with my massage therapy once I'm done with school. It beats working in a spa. I'm too loud and obnoxious for that. Clearly.
Anyhow, this is not the point of my post. I have never shied away from digressing, but I tell you all this to say that while time and some massage therapy along with bottles of Ibuprofen, my back is slowly getting back to semi-semi-normalcy. Not much, but a little.
Today, we had a substitute instructor for massage class. We were to study pre-natal massage, but when the instructor got to my bum all hell broke loose. It did. shoish!Idonotexaggerate! She spent 45-minutes working trigger point therapy on my a**. It was torment. I could barely get off the table when she was finished. It had to be done and I understand this. I'll explain why if anyone is interested in another post. I cannot deviate that far off the path. geeoish. [Oh. Right. I should also mention here that I am not with
Muscle spasms are not our friends. Neither is the zombie plague. Or barf.
I'm just sayin'.
Back to my run. . . . and the whole point of this post.
So, I still decided to take my joggie-jog today regardless of the pain in my arse. Miracle? I don't know, but while I was out and about I saw this
drive by me. It doesn't seem like much, does it? But(!) a memory from my time way down south came slowly flooding back to me:
One night, as I was single in the city, I stayed home. Shocking. I know. But every now and then a singleton needed their Friday nights in-house with a bubble bath, a good flick, some wine and maybe even a good book. So there I was alone in my apartment with the ever faithful Chobie (my dog, people. My canine.) For some reason, I decided at around 12:30 AM it was in my best interest to look outside. I really don't know why. I just did. Only to see my very, very, very, very, very inebriated upstairs neighbor get home.
Yes, he drove. Yes, he was in his Cadillac just like the one you see posted above. Yes, his carport was right. next. to. mine. ***bum-baaa-dum*** I was horrified. No, thankfully, he did not hit my cute and perfect little Subaru. I've got to tell you, opening a can of whoop-arse on a drunk-arse isn't so festivus.
Though, I did watch this
That was the way of things for this guy.
The next morning, I asked the front office for a garage.