Dear Diary,

I tweaked my neck on Monday and my life has been an exercise in boring futility ever since. The cause of this petty, nagging “injury” could be one of many things: working at a stationary desk while using my hands only to click a mouse or strike a key; performing Bonsai (EMOM-until failure: 5 clean and jerks, increasing weight) after the Filthy Fifty; a modest yet humbling bike ride on Sunday; or the inconsequential way I breathed (obviously incorrectly) Monday morning, thus impeding my neck mobility. Perhaps, in all likelihood, a combination of all of which I’ve documented. Regardless, this ever-present neck stiffness is preventing me from doing modest things like cleaning my baseboards and hunting orcs. Daily tasks like dish-washing and people-judging have become tiresome pursuits, and I find myself ever more couch-bound, my head supported by pillows which are not ergonomic. I am like the common garden slug who has been doused with salt by a protective and sadistic garden-owner. I writhe in annoyance. I complain with reckless abandon and a lack of caring of how I might be perceived by people who couldn’t give a scrap of feces.

Yet I trudge on. I seek inspiration in individuals who are unaffected by mediocre neck tweakages. I long for the days when I might mop my floors without wishing for death, when I can return to my box and launch something heavy over my head while pretending I am, indeed, a feminine princess.

Alas, until such time, I shall remain limp on my cheap Ikea couch, wishing for better days of full neck mobility and the return to a life of desk-bound excellence.


Image courtesy of Fabio de Albuquerque Vilalba.