Kage Baker really did believe that the 3rd day of an injury was the worst. She believed that – as a natural follow through of this axiom – days 4 and following would therefore  be better.

I tried to tell her that better was not the same as easier, but apparently for Kage, they were. She certainly always acted as though they were; she was undeniably more cheerful after Day 3. She wasn’t faking, either: those 3 days were the worst, even in the face of fatal diseases. And after 3 days, Kage would actually, factually be happier. And she did not understand why someone else might not be.

“But it’s been three days,” she would assure me, as if I had somehow lost track of the time; as if I would feel tons better if I just applied myself. Instead, I would slink off into a corner,  growling like a wolf bitch with a tooth ache. Kage would bring me a nice glass of lemonade, eventually.

Anyway, by that miraculous 3rd day, I generally still feel like a broken egg; a faded plastic lighter with fractal traces of lighter fluid; a pile of dog side-effects.

Today, Dear Readers, is Day 4 of my shoulder fracture. And sure enough, just as per the Reformed Revealed Word of Kage, I feel like a dogshit omelette, cooked (like cheap heroin), over the guttering flame of a broken lighter.

Which is why I won’t be writing more than this little bit of tired, self-indulgent graffiti tonight. I ache, my shoulder is a mass of raw nervous tissue, two of my toes are broken and turning colours, my right biceps is swollen and turning black, I broke my glasses and got a shiner falling into the cat tower. And I don’t see the orthopedist until 3:30 tomorrow.

So I am feeling sorry for myself and will continue to be so until at least tomorrow afternoon. I hate my humerus and feel it definitely let down the side by fracturing like a cheap piece of plastic.

But than that, things are pretty good. I’ll let you all know tomorrow what my patient ortho guy has to say.

At least I got a chance to wash the Cheetos off.