The agony of d’elbow
2009 August 20
My sister is a massage therapist — a really good one — and is with us here at the beach. She (kindly or sadistically, depending on whose arm you’re attached to) offered to do some physical therapy on my flaming tendinitis.
One thinks of massage as soothing, healing, relaxing. Mwa ha ha. Despite my screams of agony, my sister pressed on — and demanded that I participate (by moving my hand from the wrist) in my own torture.
I’m thinking that this is exactly what happened to Edvard Munch before he painted this:
I think from now on I’ll stick to drugs, thank you.
(p.s. You know I really appreciated it, sis. Mwah!)
