All in the Timing

Atomic clocks aren’t this reliable.  The BBC is asking me for help in getting the time on their website right.  Because every time — every damn time — I decide to get my act together and try to be a little more active, my back decides to remind me just how much control it has in this relationship.

Maybe it doesn’t want to have to calibrate itself to carrying around a lesser amount of weight.  Maybe it’s gotten comfortable.  All I know is I felt fine when I went for my walk this morning, and now my back is doing things war crime trials are made of.  I’m trying to stand up normally but I keep ending up in a rough S shape, like I’m auditioning for The Elephant Man.  But instead of sitting here being miserable, I’m incredibly pissed off about it.

Because I was getting a routine.  I’ve been watching calories and exercising and generally feeling good about even trying to get things under control, and apparently I’m good for all of three days before I break down.  It’s not like I’m doing anything strenuous, I’m walking for god’s sake.  Is that the point I’m at?  Where too much basic ambulation is my downfall?

Well, I’m not taking this lying down.  I’m not babying this thing.  I’m not going to try to lift my car or anything, but I’m not going to use this as an excuse to sprawl on the couch feeling sorry for myself.  My back is the one that’s going to bend, not me.

If it’s okay with that, that is.


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