It’s been a long week at Casa Twistie.
Last saturday evening, I was doing laundry, which I am compelled to do since I entirely fail to have any muscle-y hunky guys around to do menial tasks of that nature for me, sigh. And I would feed them so very well.
Anyway, the washer is a huge top-loader. I washed some socks. One of said socks decided to hide from me in the rear at the bottom of the load. And as I stretched my vertically-challenged self to reach it, I felt as though someone had undone a string in my back. This was followed a minute or two later by a searing pain.
Guess who managed to pull a muscle badly in a bizarre laundry incident!
It’s been a long week, as I said. I can’t bend far. I can’t lift stuff. I never realized how low one of the sinks in my house was until I could no longer reach it to wash my hands. I never stop to think about all the stairs up to the second floor where the bedroom is, but I’ve been painfully aware of every single one this week.
And then there’s the cat. He’s fast, and he darts. And he loves to be picked up. I think he thinks I don’t love him anymore. He’s certainly been bringing me more than the average number of catnip mousies as offerings to a beloved and feared god-like-figure. I am the goddess of thumbs, keeper of the cat food, you know.
My back is recovering now, and I am beyond grateful.
And so I wish to pay homage to my back. It is a wonderfully useful item. It supports my whole upper body, allows me to turn and twist, bends to allow me to reach socks in the laundry and stretches so I can get at the pots I keep above the stove. It helps me hold my squirmy cat in my arms – even up the stairs (What? He loves getting rides, and I love spoiling my kitty as he deserves).
Sometimes you just have to appreciate your body parts. They do so much and ask so little in return.
Thanks, back. I love you.
Now please stop hurting.