Against my better judgement - which seems to escape me more and more lately - I dragged my aching coccyx into work today. The bus ride was a fantastically painful hour of spinal compression, made worse with every passing bump and groove. I've never felt more attuned to the contours of the highway; my skeletal structure never more alive. If I sense no improvement by the morning I'll have to pay a visit to the doctor, and maybe a psychiatrist, to inquire about my self-destructive tendencies. Oh, my crumbling coccyx.
This afternoon, while hobbling toward my office, a small disabled woman entered from the glass door on my left, perhaps three feet behind me. One of her legs was much shorter then the other and she walked with an awkward swinging limp as she hurled her body's momentum forward through space like a toy-soldier. Within seconds she had so easily outpaced me I was ashamed. When people asked me what was wrong, I told them I had fallen out of a tree over the weekend. Apparently this is the most impossibly outlandish thing you could ever tell anyone. I was greeted with exclamations of disbelief, outrage, consternation and ridicule. Why would anyone ever climb a tree? Well, many reasons, I'd venture, you unimaginative pricks. I was on drugs!!
Next time I'll try a mountain. Honestly though, once you surpass a four foot ascent, where one wrong move can prove fatal or cause permanent debility, does it really matter? At that point you're just gloating, antagonizing gravity. Nobody beats gravity.
Except farts.
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