Last summer, I went through a bout of really bad trouble with my back.  Spasms, spasms, spasms.  Nothing helped.

Until it did.

Well, guess what?  It’s starting again and escalating quickly. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

And you know what set it off? 

Doing chair exercises.

That’s right, chair fucking exercises.

To my mind, there is no milder form of exercise than chair exercises.  And these are recommended by two physical therapists I found on YouTube.  (Okay, okay, YouTube may not be the most credible source of content – but how could anyone get hurt by chair exercises?  I am feeling so old and fucking feeble right now.)

Anyhow, two days of doing 7 minute to 10 minute chair exercise routines and I’m icing my back and hollering each time my back spasms – and let’s not even talk about what happens when I sneeze; which I do frequently because – allergies. 

I knew I went through this before.  I KNEW it.  But do you think I could remember how I put the last bout of back trouble to rest? 

Nope.  Not a clue. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My dear husband to the rescue.  He suggested that maybe I blogged about it.

Of course, I did.  I blog about everything that happens in my life, particularly the shitty things.

Of course, I couldn’t remember when it had happened before, so I had to slog through a bunch of old blog posts (damn, I’m funny); but there it was. 

I need to ingest copious amounts of ibuprofen (to help the muscles relax) and do my old exercises to align my hips.  Thank you fat old lady for blogging about every little shitty in your life and most of all, thank you smarty-McSmart-Smart husband for thinking of this!

Having a smart husband is a good survival skill.

Especially when you are a fat OLD lady whose body is falling apart faster than I can patch it back together.