The Ceiling Post

Today, as I lay on the examination table at physical therapy, I looked up at the ceiling while the PT dude manipulated my elbow and stretched it this way and that. When he left and sent a much younger dude over to put ultrasound on my elbow, I tried to chat him up. 

The young guy asked me how my day was going. I asked him how his day was going.

“Busy, then slow. Busy, then slow,” he said.

“I like it when it’s always busy. It makes the time go fast,” I said.

For some reason, I felt I had to tell him about being a grocery store checker before bar codes and scanners. He didn’t seem interested. 

“We had to memorize all the prices. We raced each other. It was fun,” I said.

Silence. I looked up at the ceiling.

“You guys need to put a poster up there,” I said. “Maybe puppies.”

I wasn’t really thinking about puppies. I was thinking about the Mark Spitz poster that my college roommate had above the top bunk bed where she slept. He was the last person she saw at night and the first one in the morning. He had just won seven Olympic gold medals for swimming the year before, in 1972, long before Michael Phelps, who won 23, or 28, depending who you want to believe on the internet.

The young guy didn’t say anything, and I decided to leave him alone and reminisce about my college days, Nikki Barbie and Mark Spitz. A moustache-d tan guy was very 70s, medals or no medals.

Then I thought about the gynecologist office, where they really did need to put up a poster on the ceiling. And my dentist office, with the dark brown stain in the corner of the ceiling. Interesting and gross at the same time.

Then the young guy hooked me up to an electrical machine and then wrapped my elbow in ice on top of the electrical sensations. It felt weird and good, all at the same time.

I left PT and hurried on to my next event, a thrift store with 40% off everything, today only.  I’d already had a massage and chiropractic adjustment, sold some tea cups, gone to PT and had yet to meet the new dog sitter and then go to chorus.

When it rains, it pours.  My elbow is starting to hurt again, must be from typing. This blog post is going to be shorter than usual.

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