I seem to have perfected the art of inflicting bodily harm on myself without realizing it, for no good reason, and often with no good story to tell after the fact.
This Monday I did something to my back. I don't know what. As far as I could tell I was sitting at my desk at work, got up to leave for the day, and found myself walking to the bus doing a hell of an impression of Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects. The pain felt like a pulled muscle, except that it went from the arch of my foot up to my hip, focused mostly behind my knee. It felt like a pinched nerve except there was no burning or numbness. Just pain. Lots of pain.
After a day and a half of hobbling around (and increased grouchiness) I gave in and called the doctor. Four hours, an x-ray and ultrasound later, it turns out I have/had a pinched nerve. Part of me was hoping for something more dramatic, but I think it's just because I've been watching too many reruns of House lately. I was sent home with a worksheet of stretches and some muscle relaxants and Vicodin.
Two Vicodin quickly erased the pain and E helped make sure that I got upstairs to bed without falling into a puddle on the floor. The next morning the horrible pain was gone, leaving me with that dull ache of over-taxed muscles. And a bit of a hangover. I worked from home and took more meds before sleep.
Today I am happy to report that I feel pretty much back to my ol'self. No more pain, no more gimpyness. My lower back is still letting me know that it's there, but not in a painful way. I feel kinda silly that I didn't hop myself up on Advil Monday night when this started since painkillers are all that seems to have been needed to fix this. But with all the plane travel lately and such I couldn't help but think of B and his blood clot. I didn't want to take a chance.
Last night E and I went over to Oakland and saw Morrissey for the second time. The first time we saw him, I was 17 and it was E's 19th birthday. It was in New York, at Madison Square Gardens. The Gardens was PACKED. And I tell you, there was nothing like the feeling when the lights went up, he walked on stage, and the crowd. Went. Wild. *swoony sigh*
Last night was different. The Paramont was actually a much better venue. Still large, but small enough to have an almost intimate feel. Which, is really what you want with Morrissey. Maybe I'm letting my angsty teenage self show through a bit too much, but I still want to reach out and hold him and tell him that it will be okay, he will find love.
The show was great. He did a great mix of old and new songs, including stuff from The Smiths. E and I were blown away when he opened with The Queen Is Dead. Last time he didn't play any Smiths' songs, but it was '91 and the Kill Uncle tour and I'm sure he was still trying to establish himself on his own. He sang Panic, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want, How Soon Is Now? and The Boy With a Thorn In His Side. He also played my most favoritest solo song, Everyday Is Like Sunday.
What was really fun is to see that he's not taking himself so seriously these days. Yes, we still got a speech about not eating animals and buying organic and some anti-war reteroric. He hasn't quite reached the William Shatner level of self-parady, but he's having fun with it. It's so obvious that he loves what he does, that he loves playing to the crowd (bending down to shake hands with those in the first row), that he knows what we want and even though we've wanted it for 20+ years he's still happy to give it to us. And yes, he did take his shirt off 1/2 way through the show. Not too bad for a 48 year old guy.
Okay, time to get to work, put the iPod on the Morrissey/Smiths playlist and shuffle away the day.