Or rather, my back did. I did some kind of exciting twist and roll while flopping around in bed last night, with the end result that somewhere around five AM, I woke to discover an area between my shoulderblades was re-enacting the battle of Waterloo, and I get to be the French.
I deserved this. I deserved this because, at some point yesterday evening, reviewing my upcoming schedule, I realized that today was pretty open, that I was just waiting to hear back on things, and I could work on some other stuff that’s needed to get done, ir if I had any great ideas, I could pursue them. And I thought something like “Yay! the swamp is receding!” thereby insuring that the nasty little gods that keep track of such things would kick my ass.
This is why I’m not particularly religious. If there are gods, so many of them are blatantly assholes, and the rest can presumably be trusted to do their jobs without me clinging to their ankle every time I get a hangnail.*
I haven’t been into the chiropractor in about four months–you forget to make an appointment, you fall out of the habit–and so this time I will try dangling from the inversion rack, and perhaps Vicodin, if I have any left after the last root canal.
And I guess I’ll go back to bed. Oof.
*And if they’re the insecure ones and want constant ego petting, I suspect I can get along fine without ’em. There’s nothing worse than a clingy deity.