Have you ever been kicked savagely around your lower right abdomen by an intoxicated, vengeful mule repeatedly until your side is reduced to a lump of coagulated slush? If so, you would know exactly how I feel right about now. Now I am not implying here that I have been kicked savagely around my lower right abdomen by intoxicated, vengeful mules; just that I feel like I have been…
I am looking at an avalanche of inbound work, I’ve been traveling in overpriced but torturous buses for thirteen hour stretches and because of a shuffle in timelines with some projects at work, I am looking at a possible situation where I would be required to work for 24 hours per day office timings for nearly a week. In spite of all these, it is funny to see that the straw that broke this fat camel’s back was just a routine web browsing session.
Before I start on the boring details, I should probably clarify that while I have said that the situation is funny, it’s not the ha-ha kind of funny. At least, not for me. Last night, I was just minding my own business, scratching my head trying to think of a topic to blog about. I was overdue. I had to think of something. Anything. And when I try to think of ‘something, anything‘, with specific instructions that ‘absolutely anything will do‘, you will be amazed at how blank my mind can get.
And when your mind draws a blank (I mean REALLY draws a blank), you lose track of time… So I can’t really quite say how long I was spaced out, apparently staring at some cobweb at the corner of the ceiling. I mean… I am reasonably sure it couldn’t have been over 16 hours, but I wouldn’t be able to testify under oath. Anyway, after this spell of blankness, which could have lasted anywhere between 16 minutes to 16 hours, I suddenly jolted back to life.
And it was probably the sudden jolt that did it. Or maybe it was the fact that during the blank spell, I was coiled up at the waist. Four out of five doctors recommend that you don’t sit in such a position, where the fifth doctor is a spiteful sadist. In any case, with a sudden crick, I sprained my back. People deal with pain in different ways, but they are still expected to conform to some basic rules. Guys are traditionally expected to bite their lips and grunt away the pain. No cries. But you know that I am not bound by society’s stereotyping. So my first reaction was - consider it a rebellious protest against social norms - a cry of pain.
And my brother’s first reaction to that was to run outside and check if some little girl was having her foot run over by a truck several times. After satisfying himself that that was not the case, he reluctantly accepted that the quivering wails were coming from his elder brother.
It has never been a secret that my threshold to pain is nothing to write home about. My brother got reacquainted with that fact after just one night of listening to my random wails and yelps. The primary hope was that the pain would ‘just go away’ by the next day and I would be happily running up and down the city singing “It’s a beautiful life” until somebody alerts the cops. Looking back, the premise seems so unrealistic. I can’t really sing “It’s a beautiful life”! The pitch is too high for me.
Anyway, the crick hasn’t left yet. In fact, by morning, it got worse. I try to do routine stuff like pick up my socks or answer the phone and the pain stabs me in the back like a psychopathic coward. I then suddenly go into statue mode for anywhere between 16 minutes to 16 hours, as far as I can make out.
And of course, I still had to crawl my way into office. A few projects were heavily shouldering on my poor head, and I simply couldn’t afford to take the day off and snore in bed while listening to Enya in the background. Hmm…. What wouldn’t I give o take the day off and snore in bed while listening to Enya in the background.
But it was an interesting day in office. I continued my ‘move as little as possible’ strategy. I thought that might trigger some inquiries and concern, but it was a bit peeving to notice that nobody really noticed. “Hammy is his usual lazy self” seemed to be the motto for the day. It was for me the work of a second to change to the ‘wail and whine’ strategy, which was promptly noticed.
It is my sincerest advice to you, you, and yes, even you… to avoid waist sprains as far as possible. ‘Say NO to sprains’ should be the motto in effect. Good luck on that. But I guess it’s hard to avoid. Remember that I personally contracted it when doing something quite undemanding of physical strain; thinking for a topic to write about.
Well, mission accomplished. I have something to write about. But the next time, you should excuse me if I’d rather just make up stuff than go through this process.
