Probably all the bad karma I accumulated by making orphan jokes.
(Guess I probably shouldn't implicate my mother by ratting her out for threatening my brother with the gypsies when he misbehaved as a child.)
But I digress.
I tried lying on the floor with my knees bent and a Stephanie Plum novel to distract me. But that didn't help.
I applied gin, orally. No better.
Finally, my sister-in-law stopped by after work and brought me a patch with something in it that I applied to the bad spot.
Today I feel as thought I have been punched there. That is, a bit tender. But the knot/spasm is gone. I even went to Pilates.
What remains is a weird buzz. I'm loopy, but at the same time I feel as though I've consumed an entire colada of Cuban coffee by myself.
I was motivated enough to prune part of the hedge that always smacks me in the face when I try to walk into the back yard through the gate. And I pulled lots and lots of weeds.
Before losing total interest.
I'll offer the children some money in exchange for picking up my mess and putting it in a trash can.
Now I really need a shower, but the Very Hot Roof Repair Guy is here, and I don't want to be a cliche. Or a scene out of a very bad adult movie. He's only putting up a bit more of the scaffolding and then I think he'll be gone and it will be safe to take a shower without risk of having to answer the door while wrapped in a towel.
It's bad enough the neighborhood has no doubt labelled me as "That lush who is always walking around with a drink in her hand!"
"In her pajamas."
Okay, VHRG just drove off. The coast is clear.