The Battle of Wounded Me
(Tonight's sunset: I may be injured, but not so much I can't hobble out and capture cool skies. It's like the Hubble Telescope, only with a Hobble.)
1. A hiccup is as painful as a sneeze. Not that you could stop either even if you wanted to.
2. Right turns in the car are the worst, so have husband only turn left. It could be a long ride home.
3. Find out why time passes slowly when you hurt or are in the dentist’s chair, but quickly vanishes on vacation. Ask a scientist or a philosopher.
4. Dismiss any kid from class who has an injury worse than yours. It will diminish your sympathy quotient.
5. Find out why the meds given to help with pain inflict more pain in the way of migraines, not to mention acute liver failure or dementia probably sometime down the road. At least, I’ll know who to blame, if I can remember. Ask a friend. Do not ask a doctor.
5. Find out why when you go to the doctor because of an increase in pain, she hounds you about your LDL. As if I care when I’m dying. Do not ask a doctor. Ask a lawyer.
6. When you are already in a deep whine, do not share said whine with husband. He will try to cheer you up with jokes when all you need is a good cry. If you get the jokes, you will still get the cry because laughing hurts–almost as much as hiccupping and sneezing and burping and moving and living.
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The title is meant to be a clever allusion for humor’s sake and is not meant to disparage Amerindians or Kevin Costner’s role in Dances with Wolves, so leave me alone. Venting is a form of homeopathic health. At least, that is what I am telling myself. And don’t ask the husband. Ask me!
(This was taken this morning on the way to work--sacrificing for art y'all! Notice the cool circle rainbow.)
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