Started the day by working out and then realizing, oh yeah, I have no water. So I spiffed up with a few baby wipes, put my hair on my head, and headed out to work.

Coffee, normal.

Checked at the Subaru dealer, and my owner's manual has not come in. My used car did not come with one, so I ordered one. Yeah, I've owned this car for almost two years. So what. Everything in its time.

Work, normal. Well, mostly; I felt like I just couldn't get the concepts from my ear to my brain to my hands. I was clearly not as glib as usual. Thank goodness I didn't have to do any voicing. I would have really screwed that up.

Dinner, lovely. Had it with the B-P family, delightful. Chaotic, in a two-small-children way. Not a problem, and great to catch up with my friends.

Leg waxing was a weird thing. I drove around a while, parked two blocks away in the dark and walked down First Avenue to the always exciting WaxOn Spa on Wall Street. I got in, took off my pants, and let the waxer (Our Gal Stephanie) apply the wax. Upon the first rrrrriiiiipppp, I knew I could not tolerate the pain.

I have a high pain tolerance. I've gotten my legs waxed twice and the hootch twice. This was not normal. I realized that, because of the chronic pain in my low back, I have no reserve of tolerance left. I canceled the appointment and gave Stephanie ten bucks that she didn't want to take.

As I walked back to my car, back along First Avenue, I started to cry. I was sobbing noiselessly and snotting and hurking phlegm into the tree plantings. Some wacko across the street yelled at me, "shut up, you fucking bitch!"

On the viaduct, I began to cry in earnest. I kept saying, "I am just so tired of being in pain. I just want to feel better-er-er."

I just want to feel better.

Yes, some may think I'm just whining, because they've seen me up and walking and driving and whatever. But frankly, until you've felt the unexpected stabbling pains when you turn over in bed, every time you turn over in bed, you just don't know what I am talking about.

Back to the days' events. I went to Starbucks, wanting to shove anything they had into my face to dull the pain, and saw Lisa, someone who was working there 7 years ago when my ex-husband #2 was there. I asked if she'd seen him, and she said he'd been in a month and a half ago, saying he'd sold everything except his car, which he shipped, and he was moving to Hawaii to be with a woman.

I bought that furniture. But that's not a problem. The day couldn't have ended on a funnier note, really.

Now I'm full of methocarbamol and hoping for some oblivion. Just a few hours, that would be good, just so I don't gnaw off a limb.

Send your codeine to Scout, Port-au-Patois #7, My Little Island. Thanks in advance. And watch your hands. I might bite.