That Will Teach Me To Control The Vigour!

Broken Bones

It would appear that I have broken my back. Not in the terrifying never-going-to-walk-again kind of way, but in a fuck-fuck-fuck this hurts kind of way. Admittedly the latter is not nearly as inconvenient as the former, but, man, it really hurts.

I am unable to give a play by play about the incident, just that I was fine when I picked my pants up, but by the time they were over my thighs (before they were buttoned), I had an intense, intolerable, excruciating pain running from the base of my neck to my shoulder blades. Did you pick that up? I broke my back when putting on my jeans this morning. Right.

This would suggest that I was wrestling with skinny jeans that require a mammoth effort to put on, or in the manner of Monster, who simply cannot be restrained and is Just! So! Excited! To! Wear! Denim! And that would be wrong. They were in fact the jeans that I wore last night, so they were even broken in for me for this morning.

So I haven’t been to the office today and have had, what would otherwise have been a very pleasant day: watching movies with Hodge*, and cuddling as much as back spasms will allow, having emotional conversations with the mothership (her emotions, not mine) and eating fudge and chips and last nights veggie shepherds pie (amazing, if I do say so myself). But just when I get comfortable, a lightning bolt runs through my spine and I count down the hours until I can take the next dose of Robaxacet.

Speaking of, that special time, the time for more drugs, is right now. Which certainly trumps blogging, so…see you!

-Anna

*What is the young man doing home? He got himself a bit of gastro sometime yesterday, so he’s having a legit sick day, too. We’re so in sync! Though he did ask me earlier today “How’s the period going?” So, that’s weird. Thought you might like to know.

Where My Place of Work Becomes A Lavatory...

I have my alley back today! Huzzah and Hooray! Or do I? Do I really? This just happened... I went to my spot to have a puff, as I do when they aren't blocking it off for movies and roadworks and the like, and found a man peeing against a dumpster, 3 feet away from the sidewalk. Uhhhhhh.

Walking into my alley just now was quite like walking into a bathroom where someone is doing number two's or walking into your friends having sex, which is to say, a big, nasty surprise. I wasn't sure what to do, so I did a 180, pirouette style, and stood in front of the coffee shop, in spite of hating to smoke there.

Normally, I'm pretty unflappable and certainly have been known to do my fair share of outdoor peeing (Pee snake!! [and, um, not recently]), but I think that I have good manners enough to not pee in full view of the public. I've also seen, and not been disturbed, by the man who always begs at (what was) my local train station, pee into a cup, very discreetly, but still in full (frontal) view of the general public while continuing to ask for change. That, internet, is dedication to the task at hand! Uhhh, so to speak!

My rant, sir of no fixed address, is not directed at your public urination, as distateful as it was, but rather the lack of discretion. There are dozens of better places where you could have emptied your bladder without offending anyone, including the many public restrooms around Vancouver. In fact, not two blocks away, there is a mall. And in that mall, there is an abundance of toilets to which you can relieve yourself. More importantly, there is also a row of sinks where you can wash your pee hands when you're finished.

In numerical order, I did not appreciate the following:

1. Nobody wants to see you tuck your junk back into your pants as you walk towards them. Tuck and zip at site of urination. I know that you like your willy, but I don't and I certainly don't wish to see it in any context, ever, ever, ever.
2. I don't want to give you money. I have been officially traumatised by you and I'm not paying for the pleasure. I'll be handing that spare change over to my therapist.
3. And no, you cannot use my lighter. You've got piss hands and I don't want you touching any of my personal property with your disgusting, glistening pee hands. Even the thought of if made me rush to the alcohol based lotion, which I despise, to disinfect. But you can't disinfect your soul with that, can you? I'm tainted. Gah!!

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, in the foetal position, gently rocking.

-Clean Hands Anna

Note to the mugless: It's been smashed to smithereens*, sucker.

*Such a great word. Say it with a lisp, it's even better!