How do people deal with chronic back pain? No really, how? Because I done went tweaked something in my back this weekend, and I WANT TO DIE. And it's not even that bad - I'm pretty sure it's just a minor strain of some sort, probably the result of sleeping on a rickety sofabed Saturday night (either that or it's a kidney infection, and I'm only saying that because it's in the general vicinity of where I believe my kidney to be, and not based on any experience of ever actually having a kidney infection, or even having any idea what the actual symptoms are supposed to be, and how do you like THAT expert medical diagnosis?) - but seriously, I cannot stop thinking about how I want to just curl up in a ball and whimper right now, and it's times like this when I really wish I had a boyfriend who could do nice things for me while I whine like a baby. And wow, that was an excellently-crafted run-on sentence, don't you think?
In other news, I had a brief moment of terror this weekend when I overheard my mother having a conversation containing the following excerpt: "Blah blah blah put it in a blog blah blah blah."
My mother is not suppopsed to know what a blog is. She just isn't. Here's the thing about my mom - she actually knows quite a bit about computers. She even makes a living as a freaking programmer, if you must know. But she's just not the type who's ever been into things like "surfing the internet" or "pop culture" or stuff like that. And definitely not blogs.
And definitely not THIS blog. I know this site isn't exactly the raunchiest place, but there have been at least a few scattered allusions to, you know...sex
, and when it comes to my mom, that is not stuff I want her anywhere near. Seriously, my mom is the one everyone in both my immediate and extended families mocks mercilously because she is such a prude (I'm not kidding - we really do that - but it's in a "we kid because we love" kind of way, so don't go thinking I'm being mean to my mom or anything).
But I wasn't worried, because, well, she wouldn't even know what a blog is, right? RIGHT? Aaargh.
Granted, it's not likely she'd ever actually find my blog without being explicitly told about it, but it could happen. I did put code into the template that renders Google useless (go ahead, try to find my blog using Google - can't do it), but there's always the "Next Blog" button up there, and for all I know, my mom is sitting at her computer clicking away at it, and one day she could land here. I know I try to be anonymous, but still, there are stories I've told here about people, and if those people (including my mom) ever read them, they'd surely recognize themselves, and thus, me.
I think what I need to do, clearly, is swear more, because my mother HATES that. She'd probably flee at the first sign of "fuck," and then I'd be home free. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ass. Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Goddamn.
Yeah, I think that should do it.
Labels: family, medical issues, neuroses, whining