As I write this I have an icepack strapped to my shoulder. Tennis injury? you might ask. And I wish I could say yes. Only I can’t. Because that’s not how I hurt my shoulder.
I hurt it sleeping. Yes, sleeping. I just woke up and it hurt. Really bad. Like can’t-move-my-arm-beyond-a 15-degree-angle bad. And it’s remained this way for three days. I slept on my arm wrong and now my chiropractor thinks I have bursitis. (Cue the old Jewish accent: “Oy vey, my bursitis is acting up.”)
Side note: I’m thinking of starting a new blog called “You Know You’re Getting Old When…” It’ll be akin to Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck,” only not as funny because I’m not a redneck and it’s always more fun to laugh at someone else. But if you’re not getting old then you’ll find it hysterical.
Ouch! (I’m thinking the Thunderbolt did a little stealth damage.)
Ah, sleeping–that dangerous sport! Your poor thing. Use it as an excuse to baby yourself and curl up with a good book!
Kristin, maybe it was the Phantom’s Revenge. Here I was so proud of myself thinking I’d managed to ride 5 roller coasters at Kennywood without injury!