Okay, here’s a weirdness.
I’ve had four shitty car accidents. And yes when I refer to them they are always ‘shitty’ car accidents, not horrific, not tragic, not destructive, not soul destroying, not back breaking, not any another sort of adjective… always ‘shitty’. Don’t know why on that one, except none of them were my fault and I feel like that is just my all round shit luck, and complete lack of Parking Fairy, that is to blame for it all.
Anyway, with four shitty accidents in my past you’d think that would give me four shitty days of the year to lament my shitty broken body and my shitty chronic pain situation – the 28th August, the 24th of December, the 21st of September and the 17th of November. But for some reason it doesn’t. Not a year has gone by since 1991 that I haven’t mentally had a sad-on, on the 28th of August. Each year, it goes through my head… One year of being in pain everyday. Five years of being in pain everyday. Ten years of being in pain everyday. Fifteen years of being in pain everyday. Twenty years of being in pain every fucking day. And it’s not just the milestone years either (though the twenty year thing was pretty hard to deal with, as it officially meant I had more years in pain than I had had years, pain free), it’s every year – thirteen years, eighteen years, twenty-two years – today!
But for reasons I truly can’t explain it’s only the 28th of August and the 19th of November that I feel myself spending the day gritting my teeth in anger and frustration over the persistent and pervasive pain I’ve been forced to endure and over the undeniable and unavoidable fact that life is not fucking fair! I don’t know why the other two dates don’t make me twitch, especially since the December 24th one is the one that came closest to, you know… seeing me end up dead in a ditch. It makes no sense.
Blargh. It’s out there for another year. Happy Painful Anniversary to me… again.
