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Reset Forty-Eight, Day Six
Feb. 20th, 2023 06:09 amSunday I forgot what I was going to do, so I just did whatever came to mind. It was probably what I planned, but I'll never know. It did get warm out, sort of, but I could barely feel it, and I forgot my afternoon nap. Lunch and dinner both gave me some severe indigestion, and I'm hoping my late night snack of soup won't do the same, as I'm tired and want to go to sleep without any extra distracting pains. I've lately discovered that the skin on my legs has grown highly sensitive, and the seams on my pajama bottoms irritate them terribly.
My chair is making squeaky noises. It's one of those adjustable swivel office chair things, and I've never entirely trusted it, and the noise is making me think it might be about to fall apart, with my fat ass in it. The idea of having a chair fail under me is novel and distressing, and I'd rather not be having it. I keep having visions of that Laurel and Hardy movie in which they are driving down a street an the car suddenly disintegrates under them.
My personal catastrophe will not be that funny, though, nor is it likely to have an audience. I'll most likely be lying on the floor unconscious, perhaps bleeding, and wondering if I'll ever be able to get up again. It's not an end I'd envisioned for myself, but now I must. In lieu of flowers, please send a contribution to the National Association for Improved Chair Design and Manufacture. Assuming such an organization exists.
Anyway, I've just gone in and fired up my electric blanket so it will be al warm and toasty when I get into bed. I'm going to down an aspirin first, to see if that reduces the sensitivity of my legs to the pajama seams. If it doesn't, I might have to stop wearing them. I wonder if it's neuralgia of some sort? Maybe I ought to have looked it up on the Intarwebs. Too late now. It will have to wait until after I sleep, or whenever I next remember to do it. Oh, bugger.
My chair is making squeaky noises. It's one of those adjustable swivel office chair things, and I've never entirely trusted it, and the noise is making me think it might be about to fall apart, with my fat ass in it. The idea of having a chair fail under me is novel and distressing, and I'd rather not be having it. I keep having visions of that Laurel and Hardy movie in which they are driving down a street an the car suddenly disintegrates under them.
My personal catastrophe will not be that funny, though, nor is it likely to have an audience. I'll most likely be lying on the floor unconscious, perhaps bleeding, and wondering if I'll ever be able to get up again. It's not an end I'd envisioned for myself, but now I must. In lieu of flowers, please send a contribution to the National Association for Improved Chair Design and Manufacture. Assuming such an organization exists.
Anyway, I've just gone in and fired up my electric blanket so it will be al warm and toasty when I get into bed. I'm going to down an aspirin first, to see if that reduces the sensitivity of my legs to the pajama seams. If it doesn't, I might have to stop wearing them. I wonder if it's neuralgia of some sort? Maybe I ought to have looked it up on the Intarwebs. Too late now. It will have to wait until after I sleep, or whenever I next remember to do it. Oh, bugger.
