The painkillers the doctor gave me yesterday have made a real difference. I was even able to venture out for an hour or so and meet a friend for coffee earlier today.
“How can I be happy?”
She desperately sighed
“The world keeps coming at me,
My youth’s all but expired.”
She’d painted herself patterns
Of Can’t and Never Will:
An old, self-spun philosophy,
A prophesy fulfilled.
Yet happy kept on knocking,
Kept a light on in the porch.
How do we navigate the dark?
We trust the light from even the faintest torch.
We place one foot down even though we cannot see…
“Heard the latest My Spasmodic Back album?”
“Yeah, derivative New Wave bullshit.”
Sleep, that elusive bastard, finally decided I am fitting company last night. I think heavy duty painkillers played their part but that was the whole point of seeing the doctor so chalk that one down as a success.
The diagnosis was as my rational mind suspected – muscle problems in the back. There are areas where the…
He twists small like a certainty
Made out of paper.
Rolled up flyswatter,
Gaunt and grey.
He is not your dictionary,
Purpose and pain.
You keep creatures by the bed
To scare the wardrobe doors away.
How many more for the war
He curls burnt like a fireplace,
Latent with crazy.
Fall down ditch water,
If you see it, say it
On a scale of one to shit, how shit am I finding today? Well, let me see now – shitty shit shite. Yup, that’s about the size of it.
Muscles are at Def Con OUCH and lack of sleep yet again, caused by muscle pain, has created a whirlwind of neurosis and anxiety in my mind. I’ve done the necessaries, spoken to the mental health team on the phone as the very thing I am in…
Well that was a reasonably pointless attempt at sleeping. While I’m aware that over the last few days I have rested a fair amount and that my body subsequently needs less sleep than if I’d been running marathons or even just doing what I might more normally be doing with wet August days if muscular ouchery wasn’t getting in the way, it is still frustrating to spend most of the night hours…
It’s extraordinary how aching muscles can permeate the entire being, as though the muscles inside the brain are also affected. There is a Talking Heads song called ‘Making Flippy Floppy’ that is probably to do with something weird from the darkest recesses of David Byrne’s mind but which speaks to me today in onomatopoeic and simplistic ways. I have become flippy floppy and I’d like it to go away…
The weather is for peasants. I mean, it is unpleasant.
I’m still under the weather but the symptoms seem predominantly to be of a muscular nature. This is good. The fact that pretty much all of the muscles in my body seem to have decided to play up is not so good. Super-achey, like the aftermath of flu or crucifixion. No, not crucifixion, crucifixion’s a doddle. At least it gets you out in the…
Yes I did watch Peter Capaldi’s debut as Doctor Who over the weekend. Yes I did write a review for The Cult Den. Yes, I have added a link to it here.
“I’ve got Ebola. Well, if David Owen says I have.”
I don’t like Sundays. This, I am sure, has been well established in my blog. I particularly don’t like this one because I am not feeling well. Uncertain if it’s a cold and muscular aches or more familiar respiratory-related stuff. The former, I hope. I’m pretty sure it’s not Ebola. Or Swine Flu. Or the Black Death. Or an ectopic pregnancy.