A Break in Articulation

I’m in the barely there state of cranial infection, the place where nothing seems quite real and breathing becomes so laborious as to seem optional, as if it could be skipped, as anything this difficult surely can’t be something done mandatory every few seconds.

I’ve been sick since friday.  I don’t recall much of the day, if I did anything worth remembering it I’ve lost it.  I spent the majority of saturday in a two man staff workshop at the kwan–

I’d hit a flat spot, the wrinkles in my brain seemingly ironed out so that no words came.  I hit save and walked away from t he computer to try to make some physical use of the day, hoping that afterward my mind might have restarted, cycled over enough to get some words on the page.

Between the unlit third and second floors there was a shoe the color of shadows, invisible, even had I been looking my my feet.  In hand I had two empty tea mugs and a ball jar of dried mint leaves, the accoutrements of my oral therapy, and then begun an odd sense of floating.  My most immediate thought was that I’d somehow dropped the ball jar, stood on it and slipped.  My hip hit first, but only against the wall.  Then my right dorsal made full contact with the stairs and I slid a bit.

I’d tucked my head, years of judo instilled, hours of the staff workshop reminded.  I hadn’t dropped the mugs, the jar had slipped from my elbow, jarred loose by the jolt.

It took a moment before I could move enough to walk it off, my right side stinging like being slapped, but a slap I haven’t felt in a long time.  The way a slap would feel to an infant, something foreign, no longer felt after decades of martial arts.

The walk cured nothing.

I called my doctor’s office to ask about muscle relaxers, if there’s possible further damage to be done should I dose that by itself.  The receptionist wouldn’t pass on my request for information without forcing an appointment on me.

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t broken,” I’ve told three people so far.

No one seems to think that makes a difference.

I’ve broken ribs before.  Believe me, it makes a difference.

So now, on top of a wrenching head cold, I have a possibly bruised rib, and perhaps worst of all, I have to leave my house, make a thirty minute drive (one cannot drive without using his back and side muscles, incidentally) to have someone I’ve never met before poke me in the side and tell me she doesn’t think it’s broken.

If nothing else, my life makes for stories.

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