Over the course of having this injury I have learned several keys things.
One is that prescription strength topical muscle relaxant, the kind that comes in a cream that you rub on to your back, will make me stoned. Like, I can't read text because the words don't make sense to my eye balls stoned. Of course at the time I found myself wandering around the house going this doesn't make sense, why is this happening? This shit was topical.
I don't know exactly how much of the medication was on me, but I do know that the relief from the endless grinding pain and the sudden influx of localized medication was enough to drive me to spending a considerable amount of my day watching GIFs of cats falling into fish tanks or off desks, or dogs jumping into swimming pools. I was however very grateful that I had not attempted to put his shit on and then go to work.
Or course this was until the meds wore off. Then we came to lesson number two.
Lesson number two is what I would like to call my Bastardization of Murphy's Law. Murphy's Law -for those of you who somehow missed this- states: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. My version reads a little something like this:
Holly's Law: When a negative event occurs, another negative event will occur in correlation that will compound the original problem. Often the outcome will be greater (more negative) then the sum of it's original parts.
I realize that this should be impossible, or at least impossible from a physics stand point unless we finally find a better working alternative to string theory, but I assure you it's true.
Because while I was in throws of back injury fun time, which I would also like to point out is also sit carefully and no sleep for you time, the dog got sick.
And when I say 'sick' I mean 'have diarrhea all over everything forever.' Which meant of course that I was being woken out of a unsound sleep to the sound of the dog needed to go out, which was followed by the sound of the husband not reacting in time, which was followed by the sound of me sitting bolt upright in bed and my back screaming in pain as the dog pooped on the floor.
Or course all of this would happen when I was attempting to go to work during the day. Meaning that I would get home, asses the damage, clean it up, get the husband to take the dog who is deadly afraid of him outside, go to bed, and repeat from beginning at about two am to six am.
Which brings me back to the bit about the outcome being worse then the sum of it's parts.
Of course this folds all into lesson number three.
Which was that when you take all of life's normal irritations, and combine them with nagging lingering pain that I was not sure would ever go away at that point, I turned into a raving bitch. It took all of my giving a damn to go to work, so all of my giving a damn for anything else was just motherfucking gone.
Let me put it this way.
You know all those things that you think in the back of your mind, but never say?
I said them.
Okay, like in the back of your head still lives teenage you and that person is still a whiny, short sighted, know it all kid? You know the voice that is always like life is not fair, and wants the world to revolve around you, and dreams of being treated like royalty no matter what? But as you get older you learn to shut her ass up and be grateful for what you have because that is what life is about.
Yeah. Just imagine letting her run the show for a week.
Of course once I was on that runaway train there was no turning back. I rode that irrationally angry train all the way to the last stop- we-are-all-sick-of-your-shits-ville.
Hopefully now though I am on the bus to making-this-whole-thing-a-bad-memory-ington.
So lets just say I am on the road to recovery.
It sounds a lot better then saying how I lost my shit over a bagel this morning.