It is the nature of summer holidays to bore one to the point of becoming a part-time hypochondriac. Really. One spent much of a beautiful Sunday obsessing over the possibility of a broken sternum and rib cage, which is slowly trying to puncture lung and heart instead of doing something constructive. One spent much of last week trying to explain to father that her clavicle was indeed broken and she was incapacitated because of it.

One knows much of the online medical dictionary well enough to look learned in the matters of broken bones and torn ligaments. One is also realizing that she has a terribly low pain threshold, along with a flair for the dramatically exaggerated. This happens to magically transform the slightest twinge into the starting symptoms of paralysis and dying nerves. One has been told that she is probably just lazy and fat. One begs to differ, for her anxiety and stress are exercise enough and the fat is simply an illusion to keep the lechers at bay.

One also tends to digress frequently.

Signing Out,
My Pelvis Is Breaking


Priyanka said...

we're not fat, we're well covered :)

Anty said...

Absolutely :D

Brilliantly Dull said...

<3 <3
:* my wife.

Anty said...

Always. <3