thinbrim shared an Instagram photo with you

Leave a comment

Hi there,

thinbrim just shared an Instagram photo with you:

view full image

“Country Christmas, PEI”
(taken at PEI Canada)

The Instagram Team


Every day I’m Shufflin’


Have you ever suddenly and unexpectedly hurt yourself really badly, the kind of hurt that makes you feel faint, like you are going to pass out or throw up?

Whether it is hitting your thumb with a hammer, or catching your little toe on a chair leg as you walk by, or accidentally tripping and falling with your arm landing in a wood chipper, to be ripped from your shoulder and ground into 1000 pieces of gore?  Maybe not the last one.

I just had one of those moments.

I was shuffling.  Then I stumbled slightly.  That’s all.  Just a slight stumble on uneven ground in the basement, a brief check of motion while walking. It caused me to slightly unbalance, just for a second, and my arm moved instinctively to try and rebalance myself.

It left me bent over, gasping in pain, groaning with an “Arggghhhhh” very different from the cheerful shout of a feisty pirate.


The Broom of Doom

1 Comment

This story is based on two different observations, set months apart…spurred on by the sweeping of my floor a while ago..which itself was spurred on by the fact that my friend was coming over with a coffee and the place looked like a nuclear shit explosion…so I swept the kitchen floor.

While I was sweeping, I realized that I hate it when my dirt pile crawls away…how annoying is that…sweep, sweep…<scurry>…reach out, sweep, sweep..<scurry>…

Something made me stop reaching out to corral the little spider who kept tumbling, shaking himself off and running away yet again.

There’s me, universal giant, broom of doom; gathering it up mindlessly, dragging it from its course, simply because I could.  Because the urge struck me to sweep, and its existence didn’t suit me.


Tired. (We’re Stranded and We Know It)


Remember my last post where I mentioned near the end, having to go get a Halloween costume?  That meant 2 hours driving.

I took this picture on the way back, while we were stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, with my daughter and a flat tire.

We had been driving along, lost in thought (actually we were both singing along to “I’m Sexy and I Know it” when it turned into “We’re Stranded and We Know It”)

A squealing roar accompanied by staccato bumps and slapping noises was followed by my statement of “We have a problem” as I slowed down and pulled over. My daughter replied “Seriously?” then “Is this a Halloween thing? Is this where you kill me?”


Time to share again. Not quite TMI, but almost.



There are some things that would be easier if, in fact, I was the Venus de Milo.

Underarm care. Armpits. Shaving, deodorizing.  Things that seem so simple when you have properly working shoulders.  We take it for granted, until simple hygiene becomes a painful chore that we try to avoid.

I just washed and put deodorant on.  I thought of you, of readers of Shit That Hurts, and yes Sir, this definitely comes under that heading, so I thought I would share.

Problem #1, left armpit. Arm can not raise, pit is difficult to access without pain.  I try and prop my hand on a towel bar, and walk it up the wall enough to get a tiny space under my arm, but damn, that hurts.  I can usually get the cloth and deodorant under enough to prevent total social ostracization.

Problem #2, right armpit.  See, my left arm does not want to do that whole ‘reach sideways’ thing, not one bit. The worst pain comes from rotation, and that pretty much makes me want to pass out. (or punch babies) -Plus, have you ever tried to wash your armpit and deodorize it with the same hand?  It works, but usually better if that particular arm hadn’t taken a previous bout of Adhesive Capulitis and been buggered a year ago, not quite recovered. (Hello old pain, welcome to the new pain, let’s have a party) More

Welcome to Shit That Hurts. Well, my word version, anyway.



Sometimes, I feel like this. Just.. waiting.

This isn’t a picture of me.  It is a picture of my dog.  Sad, resigned dog.  Waiting.  Waiting for his Man to come back.  Waiting for the sad to be over.

Chronic pain is kind of like that, at least for me, since I know that mine will eventually end.  Until it does, it rules my every waking moment, and I end up feeling like how this dog looks.  A bit bedraggled, a bit sad, and alone.

Every day, I do shit that hurts.  Normal, everyday shit.  I usually have a running dialogue in my head about said shit.  Sometimes it is amusing, sometimes it is full of bad words and thoughts of baby-punching.  Which I would never really do.. but the rage at pain leads me to think of the worst possible outlets.

I know my pain is likely pretty tame compared to what many people live with everyday, and forever… but this is my outlet.

Hopefully it will help someone else, or at least give someone, somewhere, some amusement.  Sometimes pain isn’t just painful… it can be head-shakingly funny, in a resigned way.  Lets see how that goes.

Be prepared, the random approaches.