The Price of a Song


What’s that old song? The one where you can actually understand the words and came off the back end of the 70’s… You know, maybe Linda Rondstat sang it, or someone equally capable of sounding ridiculously cheerful when singing a break up song…. How did it go? Oh, yeah… “I haven’t got time for the pain…”

It always happens at the worst possible moment. You’re busy, you’re moving so fast you’re bumping into yesterday’s shadow; and then… BAM… you’re in crippling pain. Choose your pain scale, you’ve used them all, and you’re at an 8 no matter which way you look at it. If you ever wondered where your pain wall was, you don’t have to look any further, it’s been found.

So what do you do? What I’ve been doing, which is of no help, which is take as much of my prescription medicine as possible. I’m not hoping for miracles, I just want the edge off so I’m not feeling like I can’t cope. And, of course, the medicine isn’t working. So, I’m doing the next best thing, which is going home and going directly to bed, don’t pass go, don’t collect $200.

What other alternatives are there? Let’s see… hot showers. Or, use Tiger Balm, tho, it can’t be done with the hot shower or there’ll be double the pain… save that one is self inflicted. Hot showers open the pores and then viola… pain! Added bonus? I’m allergic to clove, so I also get a rash. It’s a Two-fer… oh joy.

I’ve looked for alternatives, and frankly they’re woefully absent. Perhaps someday there will be something that can help. In the meantime, I soldier on with a smile plastered on my face. Hopefully, you do the same. And… if you want it… you can buy my pain for the price of a song.

Fizz

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