The dinosaur, quite frankly, is fed up.
After four years of living with a rather odd, rather under-estimated, rather painful nerve condition I can safely say that I have had enough. I quit. I admit defeat. It is over.
If you are bored and wish to expand your knowledge of strange things google "reflex sypathetic dystrophy". Then have fun mocking me.
Isn't it amazing what a lack of codeine does to ones sense of "I'm not going to let some lousy pain condition get the best of me" way of living?
For somebody who likes to consider themselves to have a nice high pain threshold I can't help but feel rather embarrassed, for I cannot help but feel like at this moment in time, to the casual onlooker, it must look like I am reacting like a bit of a prune.
After a very pleasant weekend with my best friend I am not very happy to now be in a position where I am muttering profanities to myself, complaining of self-induced stomach cramps, whilst snivelling in a somewhat unattractive manner because my shoulder is presenting me with a pain I am apparently unable to deal with.
Dinosaurs deal with pain, it's what we do best. Well, what we did best because apparently that skill has gone out the window. And to be completely honest, I, myself, quite fancy following it.