upon trying to get out of bed in the morning realise that yesterdays activities have resulted in a vicious sore back, standing up is sore, and walking to the bathroom is sore too. It is not a walk, it is more of a stagger. There is no way that it is possible to bend over the washbasin to wash the face in the usual way. There would be water splashed all over the night clothes and the floor.
Therefore, do not bother. Leave the layer of sleep on the skin as it had accrued during the night, spare the skin the refreshing cold water in the morning. It is a small discomfort compared to the pain of bending over the basin to wash.
Return to the bedroom, struggle to put on the clothing. Trousers and shirt, hoodie and warm socks. Lie down on the bed again. To be recumbent flat on the back was not a good idea. It is agony, Pull up the knees, the pain is less. Sit up, the pain recedes to a throb, a steady warning not to bend over or to straighten or to even think of doing anything with the back. Straighten it anyway, walking about like Quasimodo is not on. The pain increases, then it fades back to the old throb. Take the pills, the one for the blood pressure, the one for the pissing system, and a robust painkiller, an ibuprofen six hundred, to be taken no more than thrice daily. Sit and read, read the news, read about King Don in the final throes of his madness, and the Anglic delusions regarding sovereignty. Voted to power by the people for whatever reason that those voters may have had.
The pain will not go away, every movement a punishment. There will be no walk today, that is clear in the morning, there is a desperate fear that these back pains are permanent. Remember the last time, and the fears then, and hope that the same will happen.
That the pains will end and all will be well again.
Therefore, do not bother. Leave the layer of sleep on the skin as it had accrued during the night, spare the skin the refreshing cold water in the morning. It is a small discomfort compared to the pain of bending over the basin to wash.
Return to the bedroom, struggle to put on the clothing. Trousers and shirt, hoodie and warm socks. Lie down on the bed again. To be recumbent flat on the back was not a good idea. It is agony, Pull up the knees, the pain is less. Sit up, the pain recedes to a throb, a steady warning not to bend over or to straighten or to even think of doing anything with the back. Straighten it anyway, walking about like Quasimodo is not on. The pain increases, then it fades back to the old throb. Take the pills, the one for the blood pressure, the one for the pissing system, and a robust painkiller, an ibuprofen six hundred, to be taken no more than thrice daily. Sit and read, read the news, read about King Don in the final throes of his madness, and the Anglic delusions regarding sovereignty. Voted to power by the people for whatever reason that those voters may have had.
The pain will not go away, every movement a punishment. There will be no walk today, that is clear in the morning, there is a desperate fear that these back pains are permanent. Remember the last time, and the fears then, and hope that the same will happen.
That the pains will end and all will be well again.
The painkiller does not do the killing it was supposed to do.
Not even slightly.
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