|01:19 pm - Come On, Baby, Do the Dislocation|
I was playing basketball last night with my thirteen-year-old cousin when he smacked the ball down on the ground, the ball transferred all of its kinetic energy—the usual gravitational acceleration supplemented by the force added by my cousin—to the ground, and the ground said, "I don't want your stinkin' kinetic energy," and gave it back to the ball, which promptly traveled upwards to hit my left hand, at which point there were massive intangible equations floating around involving kinetic energy and torque and muscle strain and coefficients of friction, and once all the math was over, it didn't take a genius to tell me that I had dislocated my shoulder once again.
( If you made it through that first sentence, you probably want to know what happens next. And I will tell you that it involves a lot of pain, some cursing, a couple of Hispanic women, some more pain, pharmacology, radiology, a Spinal Tap reference, and also pain.Collapse )
Current Mood: groggy
Current Music: Snow Patrol - How to Be Dead [in my head]