i was rummaging through the linen closet for band-aids, on my way to the bathroom to wash my knee with good old soap & water when i found one of those handy little individually packaged wipes that come in those nifty little fist aid kits for occasions such as this. now i should mention that my good friend B is a CNA and also happens to be my one of my house-mates. that means this particular wipe came from the medical institution that employs her and not the little kit from Target. that being said, you'd think my good sense would cause me to conclude that i should check the label. no. you would be wrong. instead i just hollered over at B who happened to be home and asked her if i should wipe or wash. she said something, probably important, but i didn't hear it because the part of my brain that is a sucker for cute packaging was already convinced we should use the wipe. (no. the packaging wasn't that cute but it was small and had purple letters and there's something about ripping those little packages open that gives me an oddly happy feeling. gaahhhh!) so i just yelled back "i'm using the wipe!"
three seconds later i'm screaming and crying and wondering why i was allowed to live to experience this moment. why was i not hit by a truck crossing the street that morning. or, better yet, why had i not fallen off that rock i foolishly climbed without ropes or guides or anything 10 years ago. or even eaten by mountain lions or bears during one of the countless camping trips i went on as a child. why oh WHY was i left to suffer the pain and agony of this moment.
if it were not that i had, earlier that week, decided that i need to refrain from using vulgar obscenities in everyday language i would have used them. every. single. one. that moment begged for irreverant language.
there i was crying and wondering why it felt like my flesh was being chewed off by a pack of ravenous wolves when B asks, "what did you put on it?" her tone strangely similar to that mom tone. you know the one when the real question your mother wants to ask is "how did you turn out so stupid?" (try that in a southern accent) but she isn't sure the good Lord would forgive her for that one. so i pick up the package and start reading. "benzoalk...OH (insert stream of expletives previously kept from escaping my lips) ! I JUST PUT CHLOROX ON MY KNEE!" all the exclamation points allowed by blogger would not be enough to express how i felt at that moment and i don't want to be that annoying person who abuses punctuation rights.
i, at that moment, rendered the sad gray excuse for intelligence lazily lounging in my skull useless and would have made plans to immediately have it removed except that i had other things to worry about and well it fits so perfectly, so why mess with nature? as this thought was processing B once again pulls out the mom voice and yells "GET THAT OFF YOUR SKIN RIGHT NOW!"
and i, being the obedient child that i am, proceeded over to the bathtub and used what i should have in the first place, saline solution, to wash my knee. the relief was almost instant. bearable pain. that's what i'm accustomed to. that's what i can tolerate. and that is what i've had the week.
there have been several additions to the "things to avoid" list. no more wii fit or "back to bollywood". some days the walk to the bus stop is too much. so now i've got a little blob growing on the blob that is my belly. but due to the fact that greater part of my Sunday was spent entertaining D, and that means lots of lifting and swinging and throwing him around, i woke up with sore arms. after not experiencing that feeling in any muscle, other that the one used to lift my eyelids, in over a week, i must say IT FEELS GOOD!
post script...i fell on the ice yesterday and hit my knee again. i've apologized but i guess i can no longer be angry with my body for hating me. i'd hate me too.
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