Note: I know the meaning of simmer, but I didn’t want to write about food.

I galanced into Son’s room. He wasn’t there. My left shoulder had me simmering in pain since I got up in the morning. The pain radiated towards the left side of my neck. It had probably dislocated again. I dread picking up the milk, and orange juice cartons. They are too heavy for me, and prudence demands I shouldn’t pick them to put them in the fridge,  but Son tends to leave them on the kitchen counter.

I have noticed that people who never had a problem like mine tend to disbelieve me. I gather that from their expressions. Naturally I can’t go around carrying a disclaimer that whatever I’m saying is nothing but the truth, and I’m having a dreadful pain. Ironically these same people can cause a huge ruckus if something similar, or not happens to them.

I looked into Son’s room, and seeing he wasn’t there, I occupied his chair. I raised myself from the seat on my arms. The reason I needed his chair was (the chair with my desk is without arms), to elevate my shoulders in an an attempt to bring my left arm into its’ socket. The pain went numb, and I felt blessed relief.



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