That the longer I sit here, the more sore I become. My back hurts. My neck hurts. My arm hurts. My thumb hurts and I didn’t even hurt my thumb in the fall. I’m convinced it’s just hurting because it doesn’t want to be left out of the aching.
And what will I do with my chair? Jim Voorhies, you seem to be magic. Can you turn a spindle? Anyway, I’m bummed by the loss of my chair. I can remember as a little girl sitting under the dining room table playing with my little circle people on those chairs. I did homework on those chairs. I stood on those chairs to change lightbulbs. We made forts out of blankets and pillows and those chairs. I shake my fist at you, cruel fate.