So this past weekend was special. It was unique. Because I was actually looking forward to being home. Want to know why? If you know me you already guessed. Yup, the family was going to be out of town. My wife’s cousin and her kids were going to be in San Diego, so my wife decided to go meet them with our kids. And not only didn’t my wife make me go with them, she actually was happy for me to have the house to myself. Every now and then I remember why I love her. And it’s usually when she leaves me alone.
So for once I was counting the hours until I left work on Friday, instead of counting the ones until I can escape back to work on Monday. New territory for me. I had a big weekend planned: Get in my comfy, 17-year-old chair, turn on the TV. That’s it. Oh, and savor the lack of yelling, tension, and that oh-so-joyful teen angst. Just me and my TV, and on occasion the pizza delivery guy.
I got home Friday night, entered my gloriously empty house, yelled “I’m home” just in case this was a giant ruse, checked the bedrooms and closets for the same reason, then finally settled into my chair and sighed with pure, relaxed joy. They were gone. I smiled at that fact and then reached for the TV remote and BOOM! My back went out.
I’m talking excruciating, paralyzing pain. Unbelievable, right? I couldn’t move without sending lightning bolts of pain down my spine. Like someone stabbed a knife into the base of my spine. I would have looked around to see if it was my daughter, but I was unable to look around.
You ever see that Twilight Zone episode? It’s about this guy who LOVED to read, but his boss and his wife wouldn’t let him. Then one day, while eating lunch in the bank vault where he worked, there is a nuclear holocaust. He comes out, the only man alive. He goes to the library, lines up hundreds of books to read, sits down to read, and his glasses fall off and break. HOW UNFAIR!!!
Well, this is kind of like that, except I can still watch TV. And in spite of what is probably the worst pain ever felt by a human being, I am still so happy to be home alone. I will not call for help. If I call anyone, it will be Lenny my pizza delivery guy. I’ll give him the garage code so he can walk in here, put the pizza box on my now contorted lap, and leave me in my pain-filled bliss. See, if my family was here their lack of compassion would only make it hurt worse. And I’d lose control of the remote. No. I’m good. I only pray I can make it into work on Monday.