I was going to hide out this summer. Get my back yard done (really, this time) and write another novel. No fooling around about the novel — I’m tired of novellas for the moment, and want to dive into something longer and meatier. It was going to be a great summer. Or so I thought.
So far, not so good. We did get the back yard sort of done — and then the gas boys came in and tore it up for us. (Universe, cut me some slack, OK?) My dog died, which was a kick to the head. (And no, they don’t all die in their sleep. Sometimes they die begging for help.) And that novel I was going to write? It has been put aside until I get my back — back.
I have a screwed up back. Had an operation to fix a messed up disc years ago — but I still have problems. If I’m not careful (read if I don’t exercise enough) it will “pop out” which sounds fairly benign, but isn’t. It’s a horrible feeling — along with the pain is the certainty that this time the top half of my body really will completely disconnect from the bottom half and slide off, held in place only by skin. Blech.
So, went to my favorite chiropractor, and was met with his patented “look.” His “I’m not angry, just massively disappointed” look. “It’s been a while,” he muttered, writing furiously.
“Yeah. Sorry. Been kind of busy,” I replied, trying to stay calm. Sometimes his ministrations hurt. Actually, they always hurt.
He set to, and the cracking coming from my spine was ferocious. Snapping and popping from the usual spot (lower back) and then he worked up. And he frowned.
“What?” I gasped, trying not to react. Reacting for me would be leaping up and smacking him a good one for hurting me. Isn’t that what a normal person would do? Smack someone who is trying to hurt you?
“Your shoulders are like wood. Two by fours, to be exact. And your neck!” Snap, pop, CRACK. “Just terrible.”
After the pain stopped, he told me to make another appointment in a few days. “However, if you need to, come in earlier.”
“Earlier?” He’s never said this to me before. Holy crap, it really must be bad.
“Yes.” Then he shook his head and shot me another “I’m disappointed” look. “Too many hours on the computer. That’s what’s doing this.”
Ah. Computer. As in writing. Oh, wait. It was my turn to frown. This wasn’t funny.
My shoulders no longer feel like ground glass under the blades, and my head finally feels clear. I’ve started exercising again (as my screaming muscles can attest) but I haven’t gone back to writing in any big way. It only takes a couple of hours, and I start to knot up again. So — no big sessions, which I LOVE. And no novel. Not so far.
Hope springs eternal — and I still have one more month. I just have to keep exercising (shut up muscles!) and stretching between writing sessions. And remember to break up the long sessions. (Darn it. I LOVE those long sessions.) And I need to keep going back to my chiropractor until I am completely healed.
Wish me luck.