let's not kid ourselvesTo make matters worse, the rest of my hip joint has been recruited for this dirty dirty plan. While I'm unsure the cause of this ill-will, I am certain that the result will be death precipitated by a hate spiral, or several.
Or maybe I'll just hurt to death. I mean, it's possible. It's also possible I'm being dramatic. But since I'm rarely dramatic, I can't help but expect the worst.
In everyday language, my hip socket sucks at its job. Specifically, the labrum, or the tissue that lines the socket and kindofsortof forms a suction that holds the head of the femur to my body, is a sissy. Stupid sissy labral tissue. It couldn't handle something-- gymnastics, water skiing, running, who flippin' knows--and now it's torn under the pressure.
Like I said, a sissy.A deadly deadly sissy.
I'm tired.
And I want to GO RUNNING!
Instead, I have a bottle of wine and I'm stuck with some episode of Glee.
AGH! That's it. Please someone check on me tomorrow... wine and Glee can be murderous--murder without motive = un*trace*able.
As I already said: my acetabelum is trying to murder me.
