Meta: Some Days

Or weeks, even &mdash a person just can't catch a break. As soon as we got the balance of our meds to an appropriate level, we took a fall in the garden, which we managed to break by landing our well-cushioned gut on the edge of a garden chair.

Nice. Shortly afterwards, we threw our back out (we mean shortly as in a couple of hours). Spasming on a 60-degree slope is exciting especially when you're directly uphill of an extremely thornacious bougainvillea. While trying to stop the spasms, we were mentally speculating on the likelihood of sliding straight down onto the thumb-thick thorny branches and invoking deities of various faiths whose names we had forgotten in the past many decades of agnosticism and atheism. As in, shrieking fucking Shiva, don't let me impale my helpless soft bits on that fucking bougainvillea, and quivering Krishna that fucking thing approacheth our crotch, oh Mother of God and all things holy may Shaitan devour you alive you fucking worthless collection of flesh-tearing thorns if you touch our flesh, and the like. You know the drill.

Finally, our back stopped spasming and we slithered slowly and carefully down the hill and after a couple of hours trudged up the stairs and crawled into bed with drugs and pillows.

A day later, Bandicoot sneezed right in our helpless, trapped face, and voila! A nasty cold.

We're mostly over the cold and the back has stopped spasming. Dare we return to regular blogging, gardening, schlepping, all the other fun things in life?

We'll see. Book and movie reviews over on CultureVultures later this week, for those who care.

What a fucking life.

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