Back that thang up

So yesterday morning, I was on my way out the door to work. I leaned over to grab my keys from the table, and BAM! my back went out. People think your back going out is like a snap, like something is dislocating. In the movies, there is always a big cracking sound when someone's back goes out. But for me, I have a back spasm. Usually just one. Every single muscle in your back squeezes soooo tight, like a fist clenching, and then just let's go, completely. It's like when they let go, they have given up working. "Yep, we're tired of carrying you around all day, so we're gonna take some time off. Here are some incredibly painful nerve endings to replace us." At that point all I can do is grab my cell phone and my bottle of pills and slump to the floor.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.

Bloodthirsty Mousekiller STRIKES AGAIN!

So our landlord discovered we were illegally subletting our apartment and wanted to see Joe. Why do stressful things always seem to happen at night? He kept me up half the night worrying about it, insisting I start to look for a new apartment for us to move into, wondering if we should just leave for San Francisco. It turns out, the guy just wanted us to sign a subletting agreement and to raise our rent 10 percent. Phew! Not that I want to pay more, but it's better than moving.
A week or two later, of course, Joe discovers mouse poop in the kitchen. This apartment will be the death of me. Joe had his standard meltdown, I had mine, and then I managed to get him out of the house to give me time to kill it. Heh heh. In Brooklyn, I couldn't set snap-traps because of the dog, I couldn't put out poison, because of the dog. Well half the reason we had mice was because of that stupid dog. Bowls of dog food are like a China Buffet for mice. This time, I bought a bunch of snap-traps at the hardware store, baited them with stinky cheese, and left for work.
I got home from work 8 hours later (Joe was out for the night, thankfully). I went to the freezer, took out turkey burgers for dinner, and nearly plopped them right on top of a very, very dead mouse on our counter. Its head was collapsed by the trap. I jumped so hard I nearly dropped my burger. I'd forgotten I set the traps. Goodbye Fievel.
Tonight I will start blocking up any potential mouse-holes and will set out half a dozen traps over the weekend while we are at Joe's sister's house. When I am given free reign, no mouse can stand before me.
I should have been a War Queen. Why didn't that pop up on those aptitude tests I took in high school?