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.