So I've been having pain in my lower back that radiates around to my right leg
all the way down to the inside of my knee. It only hurts when I walk, or run,
and develops into a pronounced limp after a few moments. As this has seriously
put a damper on my workout routine, I decided to go see the doctor about it.
(Hey, it only took me four or five months.) Anyway, the doc decided what I'd
most likely done was irritate my sciatic nerve from all that running, and
prescribed an anti-inflammatory. He also made an appointment for me to see the
Today was my first
meeting with her, and after examining, prodding and poking me, she declared.
"Well, I don't think it's your sciatic nerve per se. To put it bluntly, your
problem is your butt's too tight."
Well, after blushing and
thanking her, she went on to explain that previous injuries to my right
leg--pulled hamstrings, torn calf and such--had tightened up muscles in my
glutes which in turn pinched off the sciatic nerve whenever I started to use
those muscles. All I need is some good stretching exercises, some heat, and a
little of that mild electroshock therapy they're so fond of. (I know that's not
what they call it, but go with me here.)
So, hopefully after a
month I'll be as good as new, tight butt or no.
Someone ought to string that damn groundhog up. Early spring my ass. I mean, the
very next day it dumped a couple of feet of snow on us, followed by more snow
every day after that. Now they're calling for snow until at least Sunday. The
little fur ball only works one day a year, and he manages to futz it up.
Mind you, he's still
about as accurate as most weathermen. Hmmm...maybe we should replace all
weathermen with groundhogs. We could give them names like Chuck and Bucky, and
then we wouldn't feel so bad when they got the forecast wrong, because they're
all cute and fuzzy, and groundhoggy. Not to mention easily replaceable.
"Better tow the line,
Bucky, there's a rat with a fancy do--oh, sooorrrry....chipmunk-- gunning
for your job.
This week feels like such a wasted week for some reason--as if I
never really accomplished anything. Well, okay, I did manage
to renew my first aid qualifications, but let's face it, that's
pretty much a waste of time. I mean, it's not like I plan on
actually using it.
I'd have to like someone
an awful lot before I let them bleed all over me, never mind give
them mouth to mouth. It's more like First Aid for Family and Close
Personal Friends Only. Anyone else gets made as comfortable as
possible while I call 911, which, come to think of it, probably ups
their chances of survival exponentially over the ones I actually try
to help with what they taught me in class.
I got a rejection from an agent I queried today. Problem is, I
didn't recognise the agent. I mean, the "Dear Steve, no," thing is
bad enough, but when they start rejecting me before I even send them
"Dear, Steve. I was
talking with a friend of mine who's also an agent, and she mentioned
you'd sent her a query for your novel. Just to be pre-emptive, I'll
save you the stamp. No."
I finally realised that I
had queried that agent, but the response was on the agency
letterhead, and the agent's name was nowhere on it.
BTW, I mentioned to my
boss that I'd received a rejection from a query today. His response
was, "Thank God there was a "Y" on the end of that word."
I managed to pull Base Duty for Valentine's Day, which meant I spent
most of it at the mess hall, making sure no one tried to show up to
eat half-naked. (I'm pretty sure they're not allowed in fully naked,
either.) Of course Pen and I celebrated the night before, because I
may be an idiot, but I'm not a total idiot, eh. Anyway, to
all those people I owe Valentine's Hugs and Kisses, I guess you're
screwed. (Yes, Charlie, this means you.)
The SCWO (School Chief Warrant Officer) inspected the staff last
week, and picked up all but two or three of us for having our combat
boots laced improperly. Mine were fine--as they should be, since I
just spent two years teaching recruits how to properly lace and tie
their footwear. A lot of people thought they knew how to tie their
boots, but the regulation approved method changed a few years back,
so they were wrong. Needless to say I spent most of that day showing
everyone how to lace their boots.
When I was teaching it to
the recruits, I told the same story that my MCpl told me back when I
was in basic training--about how the Ghurkas would sneak into the
tents at night to slit the enemies throats, and run their hands
along the laces of your boots to check how they were tied. They
could tell who the Canadians were by the way we laced our boots, and
left us alone. I don't know how true that story is. It might be one
of those Urban Legends--well, not urban; combat, I guess. Anyway, it
certainly was an effective teaching point to drive home the
importance of lacing your boots correctly.
Even so, a lot of people
still get it wrong. I only hope the Ghurkas aren't as confused. I'd
hate to get my throat slit because the assassin was as confused as
we are about how to lace our boots, or worse yet, didn't get the
memo on the latest changes.
It's amazing how training will affect your actions. For instance,
yesterday I was walking into work, and I had a gym bag over my left
shoulder and my lunch bag in my left hand, leaving my right hand
free. A Warrant Officer stopped me and said, "Excuse me MCpl, but
you're not supposed carry that bag slung like that. (And yes, there
are military approved ways to carry handbags, backpacks, umbrellas
Now, my first instinct
was to say, "Fuck off, or I'll make you cry." Luckily, training took
over. So what I did say was, "Actually, Warrant, it's
permissible to carry a bag slung over your left shoulder, as long as
it has a strap designed for that purpose, especially if you're
carrying something else in your left hand. That way it leaves your
right hand free to salute."
He looked puzzled for a
moment, then said, "Oh, okay. Carry on."
Now, I have no idea if
what I said is true or not. Probably not, because I made it up on
the spot, but I find if you quote dress and deportment regulations
with authority, no one questions you. Mostly because there's so many
of them that no one really knows them, and they tend to change on a
The daughter was visiting for the last few days during Reading Week,
which I think is university-speak for "Watch Dad's Buffy the
Vampire Slayer DVD Collection All Day, Absconding With Season
Seven On Your Way Out." I don't think it mentions anything about
seasons one and two of Angel, but she took those too.
Pen's driving her into
T.O. tonight so she can catch a bus to her grandma's for a few days.
I suppose she could have stayed with us a while longer, but I think
we're out of clean dishes.