Last night I had a good night's sleep.
When I woke up this morning, I immediately discovered that I had thrown out my back. How I threw my back out sleeping in my bed is beyond me. My elderly father tells me I should do some stretching exercises. He pretends to stretch at the beginning of his day and at the end. He also supports Bernie Sanders.
"Democrats give us more," he explains.
To be honest, I can't really say I "threw it out," because that would be an exaggeration, but I definitely hurt something back there, so I hung upside down twice on the inversion table I bought for just such an occasion, and that's when I discovered I don't bounce back from hanging upside down the way I used to. My back was better afterward, but the rest of me ached. It was like the last time I went to Disneyland. I rode the various roller coaster rides with my grandson, and learned roller coasters aren't quite the joyride they used to be. I felt every bounce and jerk and sudden turn. It was 5% fun and 95% my bones being shaken apart from each other.
And now sleeping has become some kind of an extreme sport for me.
2016 sure has stunk so far.
Don't believe me?
Then just ask all of the older rock stars who've been killed by ISIS.
My back wasn't the first part of my body I hurt. Early January, I pulled a muscle in my neck. Again, I don't know how. I was just living my life, doing the things I usually do, and, before I knew it, I couldn't look left. Since then, however, my neck has gotten a lot better. I guess my body can only handle one injury at a time.
It's funny, but when I hurt my neck, I asked my wife for a muscle relaxant. She always seems to have them when I don't need them. She even offers them like candy on Halloween when a friend or a relative pulls something or gets hurt. (Allegedly, I should say.) But the one time I needed one, she was out. I don't usually like to take pills, but I figured it was necessary this time if I wanted to do little things like, um, move. But, nope. Out.
"I can give you a pain killer," she told me, but I refused because I needed something to relax the muscle not relieve the pain.
The thing about pain killers is they give you the false impression that you're not hurt, so there's an even greater chance you'll hurt yourself even further by doing something you wouldn't otherwise have done. Like calling your wife closer while you're hanging upside down on your inversion table, if you get my drift. Which makes me think...
If some of my old girlfriends were still in the picture, they could have relaxed my pulled muscle by doing some pulling of their own. I'm sure you'll agree with me on this: any injury feels better after a nice taffy pull.
But, nope. Pain killers were all I was offered.
I tell my wife when she has one of her migraines, "You know, fooling around releases endorphins, which are the body's natural pain reliever," and that was one form of treatment I suggested with my recent injuries.
"Just do what your father said," she told me, "and stretch."
I guess I won't be getting any personal home therapy for my bum neck and bad back any time soon. Speaking of stretching...
There were a few celebrities who stretched their neck for a different kind of endorphin release, but it didn't work out too good for them. David Carradine, the lead singer from INXS, and Robin Williams. They were all stretching their necks in a failed attempt to perform auto-erotica asphyxiation when the white light at the end of the tunnel inconveniently appeared. This makes me wonder...
When did good sex not become good enough?
Sex, it seems to me, is like that performer who used to come out on The Ed Sullivan Show, the guy who used to spin ten plates on ten sticks and keep them spinning. (I know, I know... what we used to consider entertainment back then sure was lame. But my point is...) It's tough enough keeping all ten plates spinning at the same time. Choking yourself while you're doing it only complicates the performance.
While all of my wife's friends and relatives got the muscle relaxants, all I got was the over-the-counter stuff. It wasn't so bad, I guess. I mean, I'm better, so all's well that ends well. Except for my back, that is. That still hurts.
The other day, my wife made some hamburger meat with potatoes and green beans. You can eat it with tostadas, or make burritos or tacos. It's simple, but good. I was hoping to have some the next day. Unfortunately, a friend of hers came over. And so did her appetite.
"Why don't you make me burritos for lunch with that hamburger meat?" I asked her the next day.
"We don't have any more," she told me.
They had gone the way of the muscle relaxants.
Given away.
Recently, I got a new haircut. It wasn't intentional. I went to a new hair place down the street, and the owner and sole hairdresser cut it. The first time, I asked for my usual short cut. The next time, I asked for what she advertised as a "military cut."
"Why not?" I thought. "How bad could it be?"
Apparently, pretty bad.
My grandson told me, "Lito," which is short for abuelito, the Spanish word for grandfather, "next time just let me cut it." Which was his way of saying, "Your haircut is so bad, even I could do a better job."
Now that it's grown out, I think my new hair cut looks pretty good. That hairdresser really knows her business, after all.
"Have you ever considered a crew cut?" she asked me the second time I dropped in. "The shape of your head would look really good with a crew cut."
"Hmm..." I answered, not very enthusiastically. "A crew cut."
"Have you ever seen the movie Soldier with Kurt Russell? I'm talking about the kind of crew cut he had in that movie."
You know, I've been told I look like a variety of people, but she was the first one to tell me I had the same-shaped head as another person. Another thing she told me (in fact, she's told me both times she's cut my hair) is how her husband works out of town.
I bet SHE doesn't get any migraine headaches.
Raising My Father
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