‘Pain doesn’t kill.’ ‘I know that, you daft prick—its cause does; it might.’ I thought
I was used to it—it’s been three years, after all—but lately it has gotten worse,
waking me up too early in the morning—which in itself is a real pain
because how can I get through the day on too little sleep?—and restricting my movements.
Yet, I do nothing about it because going to the doctor seems like a hassle I’d rather avoid,
and I hate pills.
It’s not like I suddenly discovered some hitherto latent adoration for the Book of Job
or awakened masochistic tendencies, though I suspect the almighty geezer,
who, it turns out, lived in an apartment in Brussels, would love that. On second thought,
he wouldn’t—where’s the fun when the tormented get pleasure from the ordeal? In reality,
it’s probably about energy conservation and the fact that I’ve already produced offspring,
or I’m just lazy.
hidden pilcrow 