Wednesday, August 25, 2004


If there’s one thing that really hurts, it’s pain. Physical pain. Heartbreak sucks to be sure, but there’s something about a real owie that just makes this grown man cry. (Of course, many things do that, including the movie Toy Story II and Pittsburgh Steelers losses, but you see my point.)

I admit that I’m a baby about pain. Many’s the time a hangnail or stubbed toe has driven me right to the bottle. Once I burned my hand on an iron skillet and spent the rest of the evening with a liplock on my libation that would have made your average lactation consultant dance with glee (or is it wolves?)

Many people believe that pain builds character. Sure, but many people also believe that Thomas Kincade, “painter of light” is a great artist, so let’s not jump to any conclusions. (Besides, if we did and landed awkwardly, we could turn an ankle, and boy would that smart!)

Right now, I’m suffering from a pain in the neck. (No doubt this is some sort of cosmic payback from my dearly departed parents who often complained of the same affliction on my account.) It hurts to turn my head, to tie my shoes, and worst from the perspective of my usual habits, to both tip my head by back to drink and to lie down.

If only there were a safe, non-addictive, and completely effective painkiller. (And if only I had stock in the company that held the exclusive rights to it.)

I’d try just about anything to make the pain go away: acupuncture, massage, even leeches if my insurance covered it. I’d draw the line, though, at exorcism. If I’m in pain because I’m possessed by an evil spirit, then I’d just as soon it stays in here with me so I can use the carpool lane.

But there’s no chance that, like some pain sufferers, I might kill myself. That would hurt way too much.


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