For the last several weeks, I've been chained to my bed, unable to look left or right, up or down, and I still cannot touch my ears to my shoulders. In fact, I cannot even remember if touching your ears to your shoulders is a normal bodily function. (I'll be trying till the death.)
My body rejected the idea of 24, and so a disc popped out in my spine and the part of my buttocks that was double jointed has been making an ominous screechy noise. Oh, and some man on the street thought I was pregnant. (I reassured him I was not.)
As always, Patrick was there to help me move back into the city, to make my bed, to bake me apples, while I sat on the couch with my heating pad, pink snuggie, & fistful of pills, my head frozen in his direction. I thought, I actually have grown old with this boy. And then the part of my buttocks which is double jointed screeched again, so I shifted weight to my thighs.
Patrick looked over at the microwave, which bore the weight of my painkillers, steroids, vitamins, fish oil, anti-inflammatories, and the homeopathic remedies from my father. I offered him some painkillers and homeopathic paste, and we quietly sat on the dining table eating the baked fruit with Greek yogurt.
"I feel sore." Patrick cracked his neck.
"Want a fish oil?"
"No, I had mine today," he replied, and licked vestiges of the homeopathic paste off his fingers.
We continued to chew silently.
"Patrick, careful with that paste, it will burn your skin if you have too much. Oh, also, did I tell you about my white hair?"
Patrick looked alarmed. "What? Where?"
I pulled back the hair from my right ear. "See? I'm not making this up!"
Patrick's face visibly contorted with fear. "Why don't you pull it out?!"
"I don't know, maybe I'll dye it purple. I wanted to do that when I turned 70, anyways."
"True."
We continued eating.
I think I've actually grown decrepit with this boy, but I don't mind it much.
"Rucha, what was that your father used to look younger? Turmeric?"
My body rejected the idea of 24, and so a disc popped out in my spine and the part of my buttocks that was double jointed has been making an ominous screechy noise. Oh, and some man on the street thought I was pregnant. (I reassured him I was not.)
As always, Patrick was there to help me move back into the city, to make my bed, to bake me apples, while I sat on the couch with my heating pad, pink snuggie, & fistful of pills, my head frozen in his direction. I thought, I actually have grown old with this boy. And then the part of my buttocks which is double jointed screeched again, so I shifted weight to my thighs.
Patrick looked over at the microwave, which bore the weight of my painkillers, steroids, vitamins, fish oil, anti-inflammatories, and the homeopathic remedies from my father. I offered him some painkillers and homeopathic paste, and we quietly sat on the dining table eating the baked fruit with Greek yogurt."I feel sore." Patrick cracked his neck.
"Want a fish oil?"
"No, I had mine today," he replied, and licked vestiges of the homeopathic paste off his fingers.
We continued to chew silently.
"Patrick, careful with that paste, it will burn your skin if you have too much. Oh, also, did I tell you about my white hair?"
Patrick looked alarmed. "What? Where?"
I pulled back the hair from my right ear. "See? I'm not making this up!"
Patrick's face visibly contorted with fear. "Why don't you pull it out?!"
"I don't know, maybe I'll dye it purple. I wanted to do that when I turned 70, anyways."
"True."
We continued eating.
I think I've actually grown decrepit with this boy, but I don't mind it much.
"Rucha, what was that your father used to look younger? Turmeric?"
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