Enchanted Pants' Day Off
Aug. 14th, 2008 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldI stayed home from work today on sick leave. The excuse was legitimate; after sleeping on the fold-out sofa in the living room this past weekend, I developed one of my standard neck-aches.
For some time now, I've had a pinched nerve on the back left side of my neck, just above the shoulder blade. Usually it doesn't bother me and my range of motion isn't constricted at all. Sometimes, though, through physical exertion, or extreme temperature changes, or God's will, it will flare up and cause muscle spasms all along the left side of my spine.
I first started feeling this one on Tuesday, so I'm going to blame it on the fold-out sofa. The condition today was certainly not as bad as I've experienced in the past. I remember one incident in the winter of 2001 when I was effectively paralyzed on the floor of my apartment, and could not even push myself toward the phone to call for help. The only way to quell the agony was to keep completely still.
The sensation could be compared to having a crowbar lodged inside one's back; with rest, heat and muscle relaxants, it slowly shrinks over time, from the size of a crowbar to the size of a pencil, and from a pencil to a paper clip, and eventually it fades away.
Yesterday afternoon I had a pencil and this morning I woke up with a swiss army knife. I probably could have gone into work but sitting in front of a computer all day while the air conditioning blasted my neck would not have helped my condition. With it being August and no urgent tasks on my calendar, I thought it would be fine to sit one out.
Even if the excuse is legitimate, as mine was, there is a naughty thrill that comes with calling in sick. The fictional character Ferris Bueller practically turned this observation into its own ethos. But unlike Bueller's day-long extended catharsis, my thrill only lasted a minute or two.
First of all, I was still in pain. And I had to get up out of bed and go to the computer to officially pronounce my illness, which meant that I had to wake up just like any other day and therefore didn't even have the satisfaction of sleeping in. Sure, I was able to crawl back into bed, but that's not really the same kind of sleep -- it's like self-conscious sleep, spoiled by sunlight and coming only in vaguely disorienting 15-minute chunks.
Eventually I got up and had a bowl of cereal, watched a little television and took a long shower. By the time I was dry, it was already 11:30. This made me feel somehow guilty -- like I could have easily sleepwalked around the office until 11:30, but instead I'm lingering around my apartment in a bathrobe.
And then I had the bright idea to check my work e-mail, filled with urgent requests from clients and press contacts to which I was inequipped to respond, which made me feel not only guilty but useless. This exercise also reminded me of all the crap I have to do when I actually get back to work, making this time-out seem shortsighted and foolish.
Plus, I was bored. I tried sleeping again, to no avail. I read for a little while, until it hurt my neck. I ate a joyless lunch and tried some stretching. The stretching actually made me feel good enough to go down to the gym and ride the exercise bike for a while, but soon I got bored by that, too. I came back and took another shower, and by the time I was dry again my neck felt a lot better and it was already 4:00.
So I can't help but think to myself that this was a total waste of a day off of work; I barely did anything and the day flew right past me. If I had only just gone into work I could have had this super-fast day AND felt none of the working guilt. But if I had gone to work I'm sure I would have wished I was at home.
Maybe this is a Zen thing, or a grass-is-greener thing, or an overdeveloped-sense-of-guilt thing. But I will never be Ferris Bueller, and it bothers me, almost as much as this paper clip lodged in my neck. Where's my illicit joy? Where's my youthful freedom? Where's my Ferrari convertable?
No, I -- like most other people, probably -- am
For some time now, I've had a pinched nerve on the back left side of my neck, just above the shoulder blade. Usually it doesn't bother me and my range of motion isn't constricted at all. Sometimes, though, through physical exertion, or extreme temperature changes, or God's will, it will flare up and cause muscle spasms all along the left side of my spine.
I first started feeling this one on Tuesday, so I'm going to blame it on the fold-out sofa. The condition today was certainly not as bad as I've experienced in the past. I remember one incident in the winter of 2001 when I was effectively paralyzed on the floor of my apartment, and could not even push myself toward the phone to call for help. The only way to quell the agony was to keep completely still.
The sensation could be compared to having a crowbar lodged inside one's back; with rest, heat and muscle relaxants, it slowly shrinks over time, from the size of a crowbar to the size of a pencil, and from a pencil to a paper clip, and eventually it fades away.
Yesterday afternoon I had a pencil and this morning I woke up with a swiss army knife. I probably could have gone into work but sitting in front of a computer all day while the air conditioning blasted my neck would not have helped my condition. With it being August and no urgent tasks on my calendar, I thought it would be fine to sit one out.
Even if the excuse is legitimate, as mine was, there is a naughty thrill that comes with calling in sick. The fictional character Ferris Bueller practically turned this observation into its own ethos. But unlike Bueller's day-long extended catharsis, my thrill only lasted a minute or two.
First of all, I was still in pain. And I had to get up out of bed and go to the computer to officially pronounce my illness, which meant that I had to wake up just like any other day and therefore didn't even have the satisfaction of sleeping in. Sure, I was able to crawl back into bed, but that's not really the same kind of sleep -- it's like self-conscious sleep, spoiled by sunlight and coming only in vaguely disorienting 15-minute chunks.
Eventually I got up and had a bowl of cereal, watched a little television and took a long shower. By the time I was dry, it was already 11:30. This made me feel somehow guilty -- like I could have easily sleepwalked around the office until 11:30, but instead I'm lingering around my apartment in a bathrobe.
And then I had the bright idea to check my work e-mail, filled with urgent requests from clients and press contacts to which I was inequipped to respond, which made me feel not only guilty but useless. This exercise also reminded me of all the crap I have to do when I actually get back to work, making this time-out seem shortsighted and foolish.
Plus, I was bored. I tried sleeping again, to no avail. I read for a little while, until it hurt my neck. I ate a joyless lunch and tried some stretching. The stretching actually made me feel good enough to go down to the gym and ride the exercise bike for a while, but soon I got bored by that, too. I came back and took another shower, and by the time I was dry again my neck felt a lot better and it was already 4:00.
So I can't help but think to myself that this was a total waste of a day off of work; I barely did anything and the day flew right past me. If I had only just gone into work I could have had this super-fast day AND felt none of the working guilt. But if I had gone to work I'm sure I would have wished I was at home.
Maybe this is a Zen thing, or a grass-is-greener thing, or an overdeveloped-sense-of-guilt thing. But I will never be Ferris Bueller, and it bothers me, almost as much as this paper clip lodged in my neck. Where's my illicit joy? Where's my youthful freedom? Where's my Ferrari convertable?
No, I -- like most other people, probably -- am
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I stayed home from work today on sick leave. The excuse was legitimate; after sleeping on the fold-out sofa in the living room this past weekend, I developed one of my standard neck-aches.
For some time now, I've had a pinched nerve on the back left side of my neck, just above the shoulder blade. Usually it doesn't bother me and my range of motion isn't constricted at all. Sometimes, though, through physical exertion, or extreme temperature changes, or God's will, it will flare up and cause muscle spasms all along the left side of my spine.
I first started feeling this one on Tuesday, so I'm going to blame it on the fold-out sofa. The condition today was certainly not as bad as I've experienced in the past. I remember one incident in the winter of 2001 when I was effectively paralyzed on the floor of my apartment, and could not even push myself toward the phone to call for help. The only way to quell the agony was to keep completely still.
The sensation could be compared to having a crowbar lodged inside one's back; with rest, heat and muscle relaxants, it slowly shrinks over time, from the size of a crowbar to the size of a pencil, and from a pencil to a paper clip, and eventually it fades away.
Yesterday afternoon I had a pencil and this morning I woke up with a swiss army knife. I probably could have gone into work but sitting in front of a computer all day while the air conditioning blasted my neck would not have helped my condition. With it being August and no urgent tasks on my calendar, I thought it would be fine to sit one out.
Even if the excuse is legitimate, as mine was, there is a naughty thrill that comes with calling in sick. The fictional character <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005859/">Ferris Bueller</A> practically turned this observation into its own ethos. But unlike Bueller's day-long extended catharsis, my thrill only lasted a minute or two.
First of all, I was still in pain. And I had to get up out of bed and go to the computer to officially pronounce my illness, which meant that I had to wake up just like any other day and therefore didn't even have the satisfaction of sleeping in. Sure, I was able to crawl back into bed, but that's not really the same kind of sleep -- it's like self-conscious sleep, spoiled by sunlight and coming only in vaguely disorienting 15-minute chunks.
Eventually I got up and had a bowl of cereal, watched a little television and took a long shower. By the time I was dry, it was already 11:30. This made me feel somehow guilty -- like I could have easily sleepwalked around the office until 11:30, but instead I'm lingering around my apartment in a bathrobe.
And then I had the bright idea to check my work e-mail, filled with urgent requests from clients and press contacts to which I was inequipped to respond, which made me feel not only guilty but useless. This exercise also reminded me of all the crap I have to do when I actually get back to work, making this time-out seem shortsighted and foolish.
Plus, I was bored. I tried sleeping again, to no avail. I read for a little while, until it hurt my neck. I ate a joyless lunch and tried some stretching. The stretching actually made me feel good enough to go down to the gym and ride the exercise bike for a while, but soon I got bored by that, too. I came back and took another shower, and by the time I was dry again my neck felt a lot better and it was already 4:00.
So I can't help but think to myself that this was a total waste of a day off of work; I barely did anything and the day flew right past me. If I had only just gone into work I could have had this super-fast day AND felt none of the working guilt. But if I had gone to work I'm sure I would have wished I was at home.
Maybe this is a Zen thing, or a grass-is-greener thing, or an overdeveloped-sense-of-guilt thing. But I will never be Ferris Bueller, and it bothers me, almost as much as this paper clip lodged in my neck. Where's my illicit joy? Where's my youthful freedom? Where's my Ferrari convertable?
No, I -- like most other people, probably -- am <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005863/>Cameron Frye</A>. Wounded, sensitive and bored. But at least I'm not <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005864/">Ed Rooney</A>.
For some time now, I've had a pinched nerve on the back left side of my neck, just above the shoulder blade. Usually it doesn't bother me and my range of motion isn't constricted at all. Sometimes, though, through physical exertion, or extreme temperature changes, or God's will, it will flare up and cause muscle spasms all along the left side of my spine.
I first started feeling this one on Tuesday, so I'm going to blame it on the fold-out sofa. The condition today was certainly not as bad as I've experienced in the past. I remember one incident in the winter of 2001 when I was effectively paralyzed on the floor of my apartment, and could not even push myself toward the phone to call for help. The only way to quell the agony was to keep completely still.
The sensation could be compared to having a crowbar lodged inside one's back; with rest, heat and muscle relaxants, it slowly shrinks over time, from the size of a crowbar to the size of a pencil, and from a pencil to a paper clip, and eventually it fades away.
Yesterday afternoon I had a pencil and this morning I woke up with a swiss army knife. I probably could have gone into work but sitting in front of a computer all day while the air conditioning blasted my neck would not have helped my condition. With it being August and no urgent tasks on my calendar, I thought it would be fine to sit one out.
Even if the excuse is legitimate, as mine was, there is a naughty thrill that comes with calling in sick. The fictional character <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005859/">Ferris Bueller</A> practically turned this observation into its own ethos. But unlike Bueller's day-long extended catharsis, my thrill only lasted a minute or two.
First of all, I was still in pain. And I had to get up out of bed and go to the computer to officially pronounce my illness, which meant that I had to wake up just like any other day and therefore didn't even have the satisfaction of sleeping in. Sure, I was able to crawl back into bed, but that's not really the same kind of sleep -- it's like self-conscious sleep, spoiled by sunlight and coming only in vaguely disorienting 15-minute chunks.
Eventually I got up and had a bowl of cereal, watched a little television and took a long shower. By the time I was dry, it was already 11:30. This made me feel somehow guilty -- like I could have easily sleepwalked around the office until 11:30, but instead I'm lingering around my apartment in a bathrobe.
And then I had the bright idea to check my work e-mail, filled with urgent requests from clients and press contacts to which I was inequipped to respond, which made me feel not only guilty but useless. This exercise also reminded me of all the crap I have to do when I actually get back to work, making this time-out seem shortsighted and foolish.
Plus, I was bored. I tried sleeping again, to no avail. I read for a little while, until it hurt my neck. I ate a joyless lunch and tried some stretching. The stretching actually made me feel good enough to go down to the gym and ride the exercise bike for a while, but soon I got bored by that, too. I came back and took another shower, and by the time I was dry again my neck felt a lot better and it was already 4:00.
So I can't help but think to myself that this was a total waste of a day off of work; I barely did anything and the day flew right past me. If I had only just gone into work I could have had this super-fast day AND felt none of the working guilt. But if I had gone to work I'm sure I would have wished I was at home.
Maybe this is a Zen thing, or a grass-is-greener thing, or an overdeveloped-sense-of-guilt thing. But I will never be Ferris Bueller, and it bothers me, almost as much as this paper clip lodged in my neck. Where's my illicit joy? Where's my youthful freedom? Where's my Ferrari convertable?
No, I -- like most other people, probably -- am <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005863/>Cameron Frye</A>. Wounded, sensitive and bored. But at least I'm not <A HREF="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0005864/">Ed Rooney</A>.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-14 11:34 pm (UTC)He's a miracle worker. Seriously. And he doesn't even have to crack anything.
My Guy:
http://www.chrysalischiropractic.com
Other A.R.T. guys:
http://www.activerelease.com/providersearch.asp