Last night as I was headed off to bed I farted and hurt my back.The fart wasn't that powerful but as it happened something went "werch" in my lower back like I'd been compressed head downward. I had to take nurofen. I had to take more the next day. It still hurts. I get that I once wrenched my back coughing but all I did here was a normal fart, nothing super farty, and my body rebelled and hurt itself.For fuck's sake, seriously, for fuck's sake.
Articles from Harrangue Man
The first was an old man who was seeking help; the second was younger and needed help. I could help the first but not the second.You can lead a horse to water but don't engage in its views of tower seven and 911.Fucking horses.
There are nights that represent a moment, a key into a lock and turn where you know something special has happened. I don't get out much---always sore dampens desire to be social---but I accepted the offer and went. Then the lock turned with a soft, welcoming click.I'm blessed; I have a shit body and a sad mind but that led to nights like this. How lucky I am to be cursed as I was; yin within yang within yin.WFTW.
I rarely take Valium but it's needs based useage which means sometimes there's a cluster of use.I had a monster chat about childhood yuck and I cried for a bit. It came two days after a scare where I'd had two afterwards. After they left the churn from the talk rizzled within and I took two again. I made a hot water bottle then went to bed, sleeping it off. It's not good sleep. It's not blissy. You just don't feel as intense and you get tired and listless.
This time the pen was dropped within a near pristine male toilet environment and it fell onto tiles under the sinks which were many feet from the urinal. "Still, don't chew that," I thought, reflecting on the last pen dropped on a toilet floor and which remained unchewed by me and then disposed of.Yeah, I chewed it. I remembered not to chew it after 40 minutes of chewing.
We've covered PTSD and buses in the mechanical sense from the number of posts about when I've had my startle reflex fired by air brakes discharging near my plump person; they're a constant menace.But now we move into the inside where the people are because they can be a problem. Buses are supposed to be like libraries or the elevator. People stay quiet and mind their own business.
I'd lapsed into a sotto rant---quiet because it's night and people are in bed but with the same intensity of yelling and boiled up anger. I hissed and spat as my right hand flexed for an object to fight with. I'd had a lapse back into childhood hurt at being a whipping boy for narcissists and had to ebb off the rage. So I stopped, aware I was pacing in the dim red of the single shrouded lamp lit in the front end of the house and the boiling fury was not helping.
It was in an hardcopy newspaper, no algorithm found me, that I saw an ad for a private all boys school and thought "lucky that wasn't my old school" then turned the pages only to see an even bigger ad for my old school.What the actual fuck.
The trouble with a workplace mental health injury is how often you're reminded of it even if you're in another workplace.