Well, well, well, what do juicy young 25-year-olds get up to on a Friday night, eh? What indeed. I’ve only gone and done my back in, haven’t I.
It all happened around lunch time today. I was in the kitchen, cleaning up a little, picking up random bits of wrappers – “Right, in the bin you go”, I thought to myself, and bent down over the bin ever so slightly because I have little faith in my throwing abilities. Basketball was never my thing. And that’s when it happened. As I dropped the debris collected from the kitchen counter *cue slowmotion*, my back decided that this was an undue amount of strain to be subjected to and handed in its notice, effective immediately. Crrrck. Ouch. Pain, pain in my lower back. The pain I usually only get from standing & walking for extended periods of time. But this time, getting back up, even though I really hadn’t gone down much in the first place, wasn’t possible. So I just stood there, hunched over the bin as though I was getting ready to feast on its contents, wondering what I’d done to deserve this… this betrayal. Honestly. What a cunt-faced fucking backstabber, my so-called back, actually stabbing my back, stabbing itself, not having my back AT ALL. THANKS, M8.
And all of this because I am a good flatmate, getting a bit of cleaning done. I got on with my job, squatting awkwardly to pick up the bin, get out the rubbish and put in a new bin liner. I actually got on with my chores, I wasn’t giving in to my stupid back. Also, my back pain wasn’t excruciatingly severe, it was just painfully (ehhh…) obvious that something was wrong, and that bending over really wasn’t a good idea. So I didn’t. Instead I picked up the bin bags like I wanted to win the Sumo Squat Championships. Bad back or doing the Casatchok? 90% of people get this wrong!
Going down the stairs with 3 bin bags was equally uncomfortable, but not impossible. I even got groceries. Then I sat on my office chair watching Peep Show for a good bit. Sitting was actually quite ok. Then I figured I might give lying down a go. After 2 hours of my thrilling lying-down-in-bed-experiment had passed and I, to be frank, really needed to pee, I decided to get up. And that introduced a new problem: getting up was really the hardest part yet.
You see, I am a low-life bottom dweller of a student, so naturally, I make do without a bed frame. I have an expensive luxury mattress, I don’t need one. I’m also too cheap and who wants to have a bed frame to lug around when they need to move places.
But getting up from what is essentially the floor when you have (what I suspect to be) lumbago – it’s not happening. So I rolled over under a lot of huffing and puffing, because this now was sort of actually painful, and began my pathetic crawl towards the desk. I felt like I was impersonating a shot animal, dragging itself back to its cave. The strained breathing certainly fit the bill, but I guess animals don’t let out a string of expletives directed at the universe in general when they’ve taken a bullet. Finally at my desk, I hoisted myself up using my office chair, then the desk. Ah! Evolution in fast-forward. Only I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, because my gait certainly isn’t … fully erect. Right now, I’m roughly at the Homo Habilis stage.
Which brings us up to now: me, lying in bed again, on my belly this time, not on my back – because this way, I can get into my crawling position a lot easier. Just pop on my hands and knees and scuttle away. Really slow and pained scuttling.
They shoot horses, don’t they?