Coming to you live from my desk, where I'm sitting on a blow up little kid pool floaty thing because my tailbone has decided it needs to play a more prominent, significant role in my life.
I have no idea why it is yelling at me ("OUCH!") but I'm on Ibuprofen and ice and literally, on a swimming pool toy. In my office chair.
I feel completely self conscious (so what else does a blogger do when she feels self-conscious but publish a post about feeling self-conscious?).
One reason I feel self-conscious is that the ring makes me sit higher in my chair.This does not make me feel royal. It makes me feel as though I'm sitting in a baby high chair. In my office.
Secondly, it squeaks every single time I move, uncannily mimicking a gaseous emission sound. In my office,
Thirdly, I have to keep blowing it up. In my office.
Fourthly, my doc asked me in a very serious tone, "Are you sure no one kicked you?" Now, I know why she asked this; she was being a good, caring health provider, looking out for my well-being. Ordinarily, violence is not a funny thought at all, but in the moment, in my situation, it was terribly funny to me and it was all I could do to hold back laughing.
So here I am, precariously perched on a butt-sized Lifesaver, shredding hundreds of papers. This is NOT what I pictured for myself when I was in Brit Lit 400 in college.
Maybe I'll take my ring home and sit in the tub and pretend I'm in the pic above. Vacation--Where are you?!