In Which I Hold A Conversation With A Body Part

CWMI 006 Re-amputation at the hip joint

Later that day, my hip struck out on its own. (Photo credit: otisarchives4)

Me: Ow.

Hip: Oh, hey.

Me:  The fuck? Why do you hurt so much?

Hip: I don’t know. Remember that pop in fencing class a few weeks ago? The one that you didn’t rest properly?

Me: One pulled muscle sidelines me? Bullshit.

Hip: Maybe it’s because you’re in your thirties now and are passing your expiration date.

Me: I am not a dairy product.

Hip: Oh, well then maybe it’s because you’ve spent most of the last twenty years planted in a fucking chair. You ever stop to think what that does to me?

Me: …No. Because you’re a body part.

Hip: One of your body parts, princess. So until things improve around here, I’m going to feel like this.

Me: Ow! Stop it. Look, how am I supposed to run like this? Or do yoga. Or fencing. I thought you liked that stuff.

Hip: I do. But shit’s got to change, or I’m out of here.

Me: You’ll look pretty funny going down the street by yourself.

Hip: You’ll look pretty funny on crutches.

Me: You’re an ass.

Hip: You don’t say.

Me: All right, clearly you have something in mind. What do you want?

Hip: A standing desk.

Me: A standing—do I look like a fucking hipster to you? No.

Hip: Fine. Then I quit.

Me: You can’t quit. You— *falls to floor* All right, I guess you can quit.

Hip: Why do you make me do things like that?

Me: But if I stand all day my calves will explode.

Hip: Ask me if I give a shit. Those slackers have had it easy for two decades. They’re not the ones that feel like broken glass. Let them fucking explode.

Me: But I’ll be tired.

Hip: Okay, buttercup, here’s your choices: be tired for a few weeks, or be a bloated, injury-prone writer carcass that gets eaten first in the zombie apocalypse. That how you want to go?

Me: But I have a desk. One I like. Where they hell would I put another one?

Hip: But that’s the thing: you don’t need another one. Just rearrange some bookshelves and work over there. There’s got to be some reason to having a laptop other than poor posture and bad ergonomics. Or you can ride the pine for the next six months while I mull over healing properly.

Me: I have no choice, do I?

Hip: No, honey. You don’t.

Me: Okay, I’ll cut you a deal: I’ll try the standing desk for November. All my writing will be done there. And I’ll reevaluate at the end. Deal?

Hip: Deal. Now are you going to rearrange those shelves or do I have to do everything myself?

Me:…This is going to be a long month.


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