Wednesday, April 11, 2007

An Open Letter to my Body

Dear Right Arm,

I'm sorry to have to do this, but you're so fired. You suck! You have been nothing but problematic since I reached puberty. (This part sounds dirty- just keep listening)

First, when I was in high school, the wrist crapped out on me. Starting gymnastics when you've hit 5' 8" evidently puts certain... stresses on your joints. Being a head taller than your coach should have been some kind of indication.

I had surgery on you, which only kind of worked. I had a cast on you for approximately a whole year, on and off, for various sprains and fractures. And when there wasn't a stinky smelly cast on you, there was a stinky smelly (albeit washable) brace. I was known as the Girl with the Cast for a really long time.

The college years were pretty good. No real problems there, I have to admit. You gripped brushes and pencils, charcoal and conte crayons. You even held my bongs and lit my liters= I really can't get mad at you.

Then. Then I got the shingles. Twice. In less than a year. ON MY RIGHT ARM.

And now? What the fuck, arm- POSTHERPETIC NEURALGIA?! This is an old person's problem. And I have to take an anti-convulsant medication? Please.

I am so over this crap. You'll have to go. Buh bye.


dear wife said...

If you kick out your arm I will do the same to my stomach. I have long since realized it hates me anyways.

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