the chronicles of limp support

a truck nap tragedy

This Friday my dad and I will be Swedish.

Well not really Swedish. But how we move will sound Swedish.

Let me explain.

My back decided that spasms were on trend and between that and Dad's bum knee, our "moån och shuff-løn" is less a joke and more a prophecy. No Ikea lunch for us foten drar gamla fisar.

Bad joke?

Nope.

Dad joke.

I come by them honestly.

Just like my sore back.

I could blame it on the bike rides. I could blame it on the sunshine. Or, I could blame it on the boogie.

I can’t blame my pain on the rain in Spain that falls mainly in the plains.

Yes, this was an unnecessary digression.

I’m hopped up on Robax and am lost in my own text.

So let’s return to the cause of my back pain.

It was caused by strain.

I worked too hard moving wood and flipping massive maple rounds this weekend.

That was probably how things began.

But the acute pain is a result of rest.

Some might call this a sleeping injury.

That’s not accurate though. My back pain is a result of an unsupported nap.

After riding with Zeke on Sunday, I drank a coffee and took a nap in the cab of my truck.

Since owning my 93 Sierra, I’ve longed to take a nap on its ample, long, bench seat.

But that bench seat isn’t very supportive.

I have a home filled with beds, sofas and even a couple of cozy chairs that would have been more supportive. This time though?

This time I chose the bench of my truck as a place to pass out.

That was from the book of wrong answers.

It’s funny though.

I’ve worked with a lot of people who do something similar.

They go through some sort of emotional, mental or spiritual strain then attempt to rest in situation that’s ment to move.

Instead of identifying supports in their lives - whether their employment contract, union, family members or sick days, - things built to support them, structures created for rest and recovery, they’ve attempted to just squeeze by with a cheeky little truck nap.

What glorious fools eh?.

Use your beds.

Rest.

Recover.

Or else you might wake up one morning unable to reach your own arsehole to wipe.

Just an appetizing reminder, from someone who's currently intimately acquainted with immobility, that taking care of yourself isn't a luxury, it's a necessity.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to figure out how to put on my socks.