Wounds
I broke a rib on Sunday, coughing. I didn't think it was possible, but then again, the weirdest things happen to me. I'm living proof that nothing is what it seems.
So yes, it is possible to crack a rib by coughing too hard.
Since then I've been in intense pain. And to add to that, I pulled/strained/tore a muscle in the upper left side of my back yesterday. Isn't it fucking beautiful? Aren't I just fucking amazing?
So now I'm high on codeine cough syrup to stop me from breaking any more bones and Tylenol to try to kill the pain of my current injuries. And the half-finished cup of peppermint tea that sits next to me here as I type with my left hand; my right hand is propping up my chin. My shirt lies discarded on the bed not far away, my back glistening with the muscle relaxant gel I have just awkwardly and painfully spread on it.
There is pain. Much pain. Great pain.
Inspiration always comes to me when I'm in agony. So the ideas flow into my aching brain in a swift-flowing river of muddled thought, and Adam awakens. I gaze into those deceptively sleepy-looking eyes and I know my pain is subordinate to my will to write.
What else can I do? I write.
So yes, it is possible to crack a rib by coughing too hard.
Since then I've been in intense pain. And to add to that, I pulled/strained/tore a muscle in the upper left side of my back yesterday. Isn't it fucking beautiful? Aren't I just fucking amazing?
So now I'm high on codeine cough syrup to stop me from breaking any more bones and Tylenol to try to kill the pain of my current injuries. And the half-finished cup of peppermint tea that sits next to me here as I type with my left hand; my right hand is propping up my chin. My shirt lies discarded on the bed not far away, my back glistening with the muscle relaxant gel I have just awkwardly and painfully spread on it.
There is pain. Much pain. Great pain.
Inspiration always comes to me when I'm in agony. So the ideas flow into my aching brain in a swift-flowing river of muddled thought, and Adam awakens. I gaze into those deceptively sleepy-looking eyes and I know my pain is subordinate to my will to write.
What else can I do? I write.
posted by Ariana at 12:36 PM
2 Comments:
No way.
Times are rough.
Here, I'll mail you something to read.
Don't be crazy on me, it's a first draft.
ps: "Muse" and "Luna" are different characters. there seems to be confusion, which I have yet to fix.
/s/ Andrew
Beautiful. Sheer poetry. I lost myself in your words. You're brilliant, in case you didn't know.
I wasn't confused as to Muse and Luna. Their personalities were different enough to convey that they were different people. It is rough around the edges, though. But I do like it. Let me know when you polish it to perfection.
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