Lumbar Support Group Reaches It's End.

With chronic lower back pain writhing about his torso like well placed plastic explosives, he descends into the lower eschelon of human thought; akin to the empty junk food wrapper. Lying useless upon the floor so the night aches keep away, a mist like necromancy keeps him lost from the sight up above. Those that torment him, careless bedsheets, washing machines jiving about the inner sanctum, lolling doors opening upon broken heaters, can be forgotten until the pager beeps. Out of season, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" jingles from the handset and the electrician stares at him blankly while he clutches his shattered inside part lower down with the one section out of alignment twinkling white with pain. He thought he was a young man but he's apparently 27 going on 77 as he stoops slowly. He comes to stop against the breakers and the timer for the electric socket is gone and dear to replace. He nods, taking this in, mumbles something that resembles "I've gotta lay on the ground..." and wanders off to the periphery with the screwdriver spinning. When he returns the man of the wire has disappeared. The boss has arrived and explains his calf trouble. "I hear that, It's frustrating with no where to go at night, this aching," replies the cripple. A torn and crumpled map of Illinois looms on the wall; Northwest section missing, nice messages from home, blue permanent marks encircle where he came from and he's reminded of the transience of his existence here, his existence anywhere. The support of his body could get better, it could get worse. It'll get somewhere for sure and eventually not be there at all. The front door opens and someone has their heart all dripping and human and open faced. We're all here just getting ourselves into situations of pain and happiness.