and then i was flung onto my sofa racked with sore-ness from being all man-handled and such. vicoden? darvacet? whatchu got, i'll eat anything.
i'm awash in menthol smelling cremes and ointments.
i picked up a job for the weekend after all. so my hermosa weekend sprawl is gonna have to be kept to ONE day. monday. which is smarter in the end, because im one of those people is either earning $$ or spending $$. i never flatline on that one, baby.
all these fucking magic spices, witches spells and voo-doo doctors who have tried every trick in the book to make my neck and shoulders stop from giving me pain. and do you want to know how many of these alleged proffesionals ever gave me A BACK MASSAGE?! yes you guessed it, 0. none. not a SIGNLE fucking one of them. they'd rather rub a tic-tac on my forehead and dance around a sombrero while chanting some high pitch scream thing.
"fuckin a, Doc. just pull my fucking finger so i can fucking fart in your damn Dr.'s office already... so... um, do i get a lollypop or what, doc?"
i have a hot tub here where i live, and thank fucking god, because my bath tub is nasty as all fuck. and *I* dont wanna hunch over and scrub that shit now (or ever, really).
ok, back to laying on my couch and watching dr. phil. (i really should change the chanel one of these days, eh? FUCK NBC!)
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