It's the same as always: I've strained muscles in my lower back, which were already abnormally stiff. Ultimately, nothing he can do in the long run (though if it recurs frequently, I get to try physio again). However, he did give me better painkillers because the ones I was on were doing nothing but fucking with my blood pressure and circulation. These are, at base, one step down from controlled substances. He would have goner with muscle relaxants, but I had a minor ulcer a few years ago, and muscle relaxants of the strengths needed have a chance of killing me. So I get the scrip, and he stops me just as I'm about to leave.
"Oh, don't take those before driving or anything like that. These are proper narcotics, they will make you feel high and you will fuck yourself up badly if you try anything involving engines or heavy machinery."
I like his way with words.
So I have been under the influence all day. The things haven't killed all the pain, but it's been muted and bearable in the main. They have made my thought processesnotably lossy, causing me to drop thoughts in the middle of thinking them, losing the plot completely.
In response to this, I've found myself going back to an old way of thinking about myself. Autonarration. My thoughts stop being present/future tense images of archetypes and colour/four-d directional swirls and start being me, narrating my actions in past-tense, partly as if for a novel and partly describing them to myself so I can remember what I have done. A me within a me, a seperate self observing and commenting on my own actions. I used to do that a lot. Especially at school, I'd do that but spice up the dialogue with whatever hook was running through my mind that week. It gave me an (iundenyably nerdy) escape from being boread and being picked on for being bright. It also helped me refine certain autodidactic routines which I use even now to extrapolate the basics of everything from quantum thermodynamics to cultural and political relativism and interaction. It was also an outlet for the creativity which has given you all of these damn ideas.
I have no idea where I want to go now. While in the shower, I actually thought I was going to make an LJ post about shaving, about the "wet/dry/electric" choice, which worked for me and why and all of that bollocks. But in truth that was just mu autonarrator reminding me what I had done.
: We had a good working relationship. As opposed to the whiney fucks who'd cry off for an extenuating circumstances form at the merest sight of a sniffle, I would do my best to self-medicate and only see her when I had something serious (like my back). In return, I showed up when I really needed a form (but only when I did, I was honourable like that) and she signed it without question.
: Looking back on this, I think this was actually one of the better policies at university. No crying off to the lecturer, if you missed the deadline you either had to have a credible reason (plus witness who would countersign) or an illness plus doctor's signature. Prepares people for the working world, rather than letting them beg the lecturers like they were schoolteachers.
: The doc in Staffs suggested this. The physio there gave me a set of excercises. On my third day of doing them, I fucked my back up worse than before.
: I cannot explain how I normally think in any consistent way. Lots of other people can. This worries me sometimes.