Pulling Weeds

It’s a difficult task.  Stooping, digging, stabbing, pulling.  Murdering vegetation that only wants to grow.  Whose fault is it that it’s growing where I don’t want it to grow?  I could talk to it–please, if you’d only take root in that big bald spot in the back, I wouldn’t have to hack you out of the dirt like this.  Really, this does hurt me more than it hurts you.

Work glove on the right hand to prevent blisters from the tool, left hand bare because it’s easier to get a good hold on the bastards that way.  There’s no comfortable way to do this job.  Even as I’m working, I can anticipate the soreness I’ll have to put up with when I’m done.   It doesn’t help that my left hand has been giving me trouble since Monday, pay back for a lot of typing last weekend, damage done probably in early November.  Probably not broken.  There’s minimal swelling and bruising, if any.  But still.  I need both hands.  Fortunately, the new damage to the left hand is tolerable–no new pain but lots of scrapes, little raw fissures at the base of three fingernails, dirt around my nails, more dryness in my already overly dry skin.  Fuck it.  That’s nothing.

It’s my back that’s the problem.  The immediate pain was in my lower back.  I expected that, and it’s not bad.  Today’s pain has crept up to somewhere in the middle of my back, and it’s making sitting up really fucking uncomfortable.  Everything else hurts, too, but it’s the back pain that’s really kicking my ass.  And I knew it would get to this, really.  There was one patch that wouldn’t come up no matter how hard I dug at the roots.  The ground in that spot was very dry and hard, the roots deeper than elsewhere for some reason.  I dug, stood and pulled, gloves stained green with grass blood and red with dirt.  I stabbed the ground, pulled harder, finally got the clumps to loosen their grips and come up.  I knew it was going to hurt.

I probably didn’t help myself any by spending the rest of the day curled in various positions in an armchair, reading so I could finish the book before taking it back to the library (tried to renew, couldn’t because someone else wants to read it, so plowed through probably 400+ pages; my impressions of the book are a post in itself, maybe).

So this morning, I woke slower than usual, fully conscious by 10 or so.  And yes, fully conscious of the pain in my back.  I knew sitting up would hurt, so I avoided doing so as long as I could.  But you know, even lying or standing still hurts.  It’s throbbing.  My face is throbbing, too–fucking sinus pain.  It’s not pleasant having my face, my back, my neck, my shoulders and my ass all throbbing in tandem.  I finally took something for all my various pains about an hour ago.  Hasn’t helped.  I think the solution, short term, is a hot bath.  This makes the prospect of sitting at my desk writing for the rest of the day not so bright.  Although, that probably won’t stop me in the long run.  I should run some errands today, though, but that involves walking, which, as you can imagine give which muscles I’ve pissed off, isn’t the easiest right now.

This is a metaphor for something, maybe.  Maybe many things.

Lunch first.  Then soak in a hot bath.  Then maybe I’ll feel like moving again.

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2 thoughts on “Pulling Weeds

  1. “This is a metaphor for something…” I am afraid Mel that it sounds a great deal like getting older. Ain’t that the shits?

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