Wakin' up is hard to do.

I fucked my wrist up big time this weekend. No clue what I did. I just woke up Saturday morning with a stiff, painful wrist, and by Sunday, the damn thing was too painful to use at all. Yeah, yeah. Guess my wrists just aren't as supple as they used to be since I got married.

Anyway, I wrapped the damn thing up with an ace bandage, and that seemed to help. I tied some frozen peas to it at night, and that seemed to help, too. The pain's tolerable today.

I worry a lot about carpal tunnel. I type for a living, and play guitar to punish people within earshot. I have a set of Baoding Balls that I use regularly to try to keep my wrists in decent shape. They are disappointingly less prurient in nature than they sound at first. Sorry, Coyote.

So fearing that the rest of my career would involve searing agony, I made an appointment with the doctor. He checked me out, asked me a few questions, and declared that it was a bad sprain. In his opinion, I probably managed to sprain my wrist in my sleep. I'm such a deep sleeper it never woke me up.

Lucky me. I can kill myself in my sleep and never know it.

Bonus points: the lump on my tricep that's been causing my wife no end of worry is just "fibrous tissue" and nothing to worry about. If it gets larger, they may take it out to preserve my vanity, but there's no reason it would ever be threatening to my health.

While I was in there, they praised me for losing some weight, then admonished me that they wanted me to lose ten more pounds. The doctor yelled at me to lose weight. There's another milestone passed. Getting older every year.

I'd flip the world off except, you know, gimp hand.