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Pain

A 9-post collection

Challenge #01848-E024: Walk it Off...

Human broke his arm and is upset when he saw that he lose his watch.

Human stub his toe and is crying on the floor. -- Anon Guest

In the early days of their acceptance into the Greater Galactic Alliance, there was a code. HID. Human In Distress. The greater population had yet to understand humans and, to state a point of fact, still don't. Therefore, a human in any kind of physical or mental pain was a cause for viral concern amongst the larger population.

And since humans had a rather... gung-ho attitude to life, the HID Reports attempted to find a pattern.

Galactic Society was quite upset when they eventually found out that there wasn't one.

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Dawn breaks...

Not literally. No. This is a metaphorical dawn. A dawn in the mind.

Followers of my ramblings - the ones who aren’t bots - will know I recently discovered the anti-joy of having a spur in my heel.

It’s painful to walk, most of the time. So I have gained a new appreciation of being able to walk without pain.

And last night… I cooked a meal for the first time in four fargnaxing weeks.

It was

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As the Drama Flies...

I usually name my mythical soap operas _All My [NOUN]s_, mad-lib style. But my life is definitely As the Drama Flies. And believe me, it’s flying pretty damn low, right now.

Got some expensive and some not-so-expensive stuff to try and train the hound not to chew shit he shouldn’t chew. Neither of said stuff is waterproof.

Gave selfsame stuff to Hubby and Mostly Shiftless. It hasn’t been seen since.

It rained.

Dog decided to

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89.8

That’s my weight, this morning. I’m finally down to sniffing distance of my target weight.

After my personal disaster cascade [see earlier posts about me tripping on a chair], I honestly believed I would be battling weight problems and increasing weight until such time as I could actually walk again.

What I forgot is that I would also be less inclined to get up and grab another snack.

Here’s my regime - or what passes for

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Two more days...

It’s Wednesday. I promised myself that if my heel showed no signs of improvement by Friday, I would drag it and my sorry fat arse down to the local quack to see what they can do.

Besides, I’m running low on Seratide and I need a new scrip.

I also plan on checking what other rheumatism remedies there are. I was given some quinine-derived stuff last time by a specialist who wasn’t sure if it was

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Disaster Cascade

I tripped on a chair, stubbed my toe, and completely bolloxed the heel of the same foot in the space of a few seconds.

In the process of hobbling to bed, I did something horrible to the opposite knee.

I need crutches just to get around, but before I got them, the rheumatism in both my wrists flared up and I needed to put my bracers on.

24 hours later, I’m not that much better.

My heel still hurts like

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Farging roadblocks!

No, this is not about traffic.

I seem to be cursed to stay at or above 91.9 kilos.

I bounced back up into solid 92kilo turf, today. Grrr.

I’m so mad at myself and frustrated and tired and, to add insult to injury, my right knee has decided to join my wrists in the Painful Rheumatism Club.

Which means I more or less have to rely on diet alone on the days when it’s painful to move.

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91.9

That’s my weight, today[2nd Feb].

That’s my stumbling block.

Three times, I’ve got down to 91.9 only to yo-yo back up to the next kilo bracket. since I spend a week working off roughly a kilo, I watch those decimals like a hawk. Getting down into the next “kilo zone” is fast becoming an obsession.

Better make certain it’s not a dangerous one, then.

And in the Antiprogress side of

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