It only hurts when I move

Or when I breathe.

Reaching is no treat either.

Oh dear.  Whatever will we do with me?

As quickly as we make progress in resolving one issue (ie my knees), another raises its ugly head.

You see, I brought this one on myself.

Not deliberately, you realize.  But I really should have seen it coming.

We are helping a very special person clean up his (very messy) apartment while he is temporarily incapacitated.  And in doing so, John brought home boxes (and bags) full of paraphernalia that needed sorting.

So on Sunday, we tackled the chore.  We sat out on the porch and started sorting, I sitting on the futon, John in the Adirondack chair.  Boxes on the floor between us.

We spent the afternoon reaching and sorting.

I should know better.  Really I should.

With all the years of office work behind me, I should know how to ergonomically set up for such chores to lessen the pain that will surely follow.

But no.  It would seem I had forgotten all that I had learned over the years.

I sure remembered the next morning though, when I awoke having been visited by those damned mack trucks again!

As Monday progressed, I could feel the spasms starting in my lower back.

By Tuesday, they were very pronounced.  My physiotherapist tried to work them out as best she could and her ministrations helped (as did the acupuncture), but the relief didn't last long.

Last night, the mack trucks were back in fine form and in addition to the back spasms, my right leg -- especially my foot -- was contorted in spasmodic pain.

This morning, I've applied tiger balm; I've taken Robaxicet; and I'm wearing a back brace.

But really, as long as I don't move, or breathe, or reach -- I'm just fine, thank you very much.

Fortunately, my massage therapist will be here tomorrow.  Surely, she'll be able to work out the kinks!