We Take An Ass That Doesn’t Hurt For Granted

I fell the other night. Out of bed, apparently. I remember yelling — screaming maybe — something profound like, “Ow!”  And feeling like my body had been glued to the floor. And now, practically every movement I make with my ass (these are surprisingly numerous) hurts.

I can’t help but think that it’s part of the Universe’s plan for me. Tilting on its axis suddenly and causing me to fall out of bed and break my ass. That’s it, isn’t it?

I could also blame alcohol. Why not? My ass hurts when I breathe and I have to point the finger at somebody. And after all, coming home at night to find that my motorcycle had been kicked over for a 4th time had its effect on me. I called the police (“maybe it was the wind?”) and accepted the glass of passion fruit vodka that Matthew handed me. We watched an episode of House — always a good choice when you’re feeling vaguely misanthropic — and clinked sticky passion fruity glasses.

Hmm, misanthropy has its uses. Right now I am feeling untrusting. The rug has been pulled out from under me and I am pissed off. Out of the frying pan only to find out I never left it after all.

This post sounded a lot better in the shower 4 hours ago.

I am afraid and feel alone and there is no one who can help me. Even my ass is on vacation.

Note to Future Self: Do not get divorced from someone who subsequently will go to law school. Just don’t.

Note to Future Self Part Two: Stop being so damned idealistic. You know it gets you into trouble.

Note to Future Self Part Three: I have no other suggestions. You’re on your own from here on out.


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