Pain for the Masses

Somewhere, in this universe or in the next, has terrifying horrors unimagined even by the insane mind. In the netherworlds, demons and their ilk torture people for the sake of perverse pleasure. Others, in more darker pits, house excrutiating torments that even their designers break out in cold sweat in their sleep.

But nothing can be compared to this if you have a sprained ankle.

I am in pain right now. Not just any pain mind you. More like the stabbing, piercing, gut-wrenching, kicked-in-the-balls-followed-by-a-knee-to-the-sternum type of pain. It happened during a game of basketball just this afternoon, and landing hard on the ground with your feet splayed on a unnatural angle is enough to shock even the first-aid team that came to my rescue. And thus I went home with my a huge bump on my feet the size of a jawbreaker. Walking home didn't help matters either. Climbing up three floors to my room almost made me collapsed back down the flight of stairs, where assuredly would have caused the nation's first ever intensity 7 earthquake. Gritting my teeth and fighting back the pain, I reached salvation and collapsed in my bed, gasping and inventing new swearwords.

Then my pain took me to a new whole level as I remembered that today is laundry day and I have to take down my smelly clothes on the ground floor. Sighing in defeat and making peace with my God, I reached for the laundry basket and went back down to stairs, taking one painful step at the time. And so help me, it took me at least 45 minutes to go down, deposit my stuff and go back up to my room, all the while hugging the wall like a lizard on steroids. Putting wieght on my feet is like electrocuting yourself for fun, not to mention idiotic.

Looks like I'll be stranded in my room for a while, and by looks of things, it's gonna be a long long while. It's a good thing I finished all my essentials, it's gonna be a bitch of a time walking. Even hopping like one legged pirate round the room is painful enough, much more going outside. Hay, another week of solitary confinement. Feh...

Hobby Girl text me just this afternoon asking me to meet up with her at a certain ice cream shop. Bugger the fates as I had to turn her down, explaining my delicate predicament. Why does this always happen to me? Somebody has gotta own up for all of this crap I'm going through...

State of Mind: Capital P.A.I.N. like a barrel of crazed, suicidal baboons.
Song of the Day: Too Little, Too Late by Barenaked Ladies.
Miles walked on sprained ankle: 1.7 miles.
Recommed Painkiller: Omega Ointment and probably a barrel of scotch ( Sadly, I don't drink anymore; I'll just go with the pain I guess )