It is 3AM and the pain in my knees is keeping me awake.
I roll over and flail for my glasses, knocking a pen, my alarm clock, and a bottle of body moisturizer off the bed-stand. Cringing as all three crunch into a bag of Salsa Verde Doritos, I barely catch my glasses as they too attempt a suicide dive.
“I can’t afford to replace you!” I remind them, shaking them a little too vigorously.
My vision right now is 20/600. My back-up glasses are 20/400. So if my current pair break, I would be blind for several weeks until a new pair arrived.
I pat my glasses apologetically and put them on. I know who’s boss.
Still half asleep, I stumble through books, piles of paper, and empty Mountain Dew cans. “Frik,” I mumble, tripping over a nest of phone and printer cables. “I’ma light ya on fire some day.”
I stop.
“I’ma light ya on fire some day?”
What the fuck?
I emerge from clutter and chaos five minutes later, rummaging for a hot water bottle in the upstairs bathroom.
Waiting for the tap to run, well, hot water, I slouch to the ground and stare at my knees: swollen and slightly bruised. ‘You aren’t my knees,’ I think. ‘Bad knees, go away.’ They are disinclined to obey.
Having spent the last four months primarily in front of my television and computer, I don’t know what I was expecting. That my legs still had the stamina to stand for that long? Yeah. Probably. I mean, DUDE – four hours. Four.
“This is fucking embarassing,” I say, still staring at my knees.
With the hot water bottle resting on my legs, I do eventually fall back to sleep. I awake some five hours later, pain free.
And there is a spring in my step.
Crap.
