You may recall me telling you about the fall I took several weeks ago in the living room? Yeah, I went to move with my usual alacrity, and it was brought to my attention that I don't have it anymore. So I took a dive into a pile of toys, and the wife had to pull me up and out of the pile.
Well, it hurt pretty damn good, and I knew I was dinged up pretty damn bad, but I didn't know how damn bad until I took my shirt off in front of the wife, and she gasped in horror. I turned around and looked in the mirror, and did some gasping of my own. I don't know when I have been hurt so bad, ever, and I have been in 11-15 major car accidents, been stomped, played contact sports, and had a mean (ex)wife.
I bet I have been pissing blood. It doesn't stop hurting, it just gets worse. I've told you I don't mind dying, death is just pain leaving the body. But when I can't get off the couch without help, I just want to cry in frustration. I wish I knew how. Gosh, I hurt. For over a month.
Speaking of dives, Nat took one down the stairs yesterday, and landed on her back in a pile of puzzles. Yeah, she's dinged up some. The wife taught her last week how to make 'meat sandwiches'. So she has graduated from PBJ's to turkey and bologna. She makes lunch for she and John, thank God, while the wife is at work. She is painting a two-story condo, and then she has to clean the place. I say 'thank God', because this sash of pain I am wearing around my middle precludes standing for long, or bending while load bearing. I direct them, and the kids do the laundry. Johnny rinses the dishes, and loads the dishwasher.
I put the soap in, start it, and then go sit down, gasping.