Merry Christmas to everyone, Happy Holidays to everyone, happy 2008 to everyone-everyone. Let’s elect a decent human being this year, and toss out the pig.
I finished classes with decent grades. Spring Semester’s due to begin in a couple of weeks, so it will be a short break.
I’ve finally had a crack in the remission veneer! Lately I’ve had the following juicy symptoms (and by juicy I mean sensational rather than TANGIBLE TOUCHABLE SYMPTOMS, thank god):
1. Headaches. A symptom that doesn’t mean shit.
2. Occasional racing heart. I was doing the dishes! Not exactly strenuous labor! And I had to sit down and rest. It’s only happened a couple other times, though, so it’s not exactly a crazy indicator, right?
3. Shortness of breath. This freaks me out so much I’m calling the doctor today. However, it could be related to an impromptu backrub I received over the holidays, which included an intentional impromptu back-crack. Now, I’m of the mind that back-cracking is comparable to sex – in the trust and consent sense. I once met a chiropractor who insisted that there was no point in having someone to crack your bones if you did not have complete trust in their abilities. He smoked a lot of weed, but I think he made a good point. Of course, his next question dealt with my bra size, but that’s probably chiropractic in nature, too.
Anyway, the point is that some people are very comfortable having their back cracked, or cracking other people’s backs. They go crack-crack-cracking or getting cracked at least once a day. I, on the other hand, get my back cracked accidentally about once a year. So there I was, lolling around under a backrub, and suddenly the gal doing it must’ve decided that something stuck out funny and she leaned in hard and the-something-funny went CREEEEEEACK. And I said, “Owwwhhh. Um. That felt, er…good? Really. Thanks a lot,” and ran away.
Okay, okay, it ain’t rape, but it’s FUCKING ANNOYING. I mean, isn’t chiropractice/chiropracty(/stupid Blogger spellcheck) something you generally PAY someone to do? No one’s offering to give me an colostomy on the coffee table, or set my broken ankle. (People, bring your hairs, I will split them, or just wildly generalize about them.)
I do hope, though, that this is the cause of the breath-shortness, and not what I think it might be, since all three symptoms come up as negative side-effects toooooo
Just checked my heart rate. It’s about ninety beats per minute. For sitting in a chair/at rest that seems a little fast, but then, I’m bitching, so that’s got to require more oxygen.
In other news, my movements have for the past month looked like the Ebola virus.
Calling the doctor now.