My back, never terribly cooperative at the best of times, has been giving me grief all week. I took to my bed with ice packs and muscle relaxants, hounded my chiropractor, prayed to the Psychic Friends – nothing helped. Then this morning I dragged my sorry ass of to a “late brunch” (which is code for drinks and vicodin) with Secret Agent Fred and several friends and now, many hours later, I feel ever so much better. Maybe it was the pizza.
A graphic representation of my backache this week: