in this case, the good far outweighs the bad

I've got good news and bad news.

Did you ever have anybody tell you that and immediately follow it with asking you which you'd like to hear first?

I've always been a let's hear the bad news first and get it out of the way kind of girl, myself.

So, the bad news:

I have re-injured my rib. The same one that my friend unwittingly cracked while slamming into me on a roller coaster over the summer. The same one that had healed so nicely. Maybe too nicely, cause I had forgotten it was even susceptible at all. I had also forgotten how badly a rib injury can hurt. How it kind of feels like I am suffering a minor heart attack, being that the rib in question is right over my heart. And how it seems to be connected to every kind of automatic movement your body does, to the point where getting up hurts. As does breathing. And any sharp motion at all.

Have I mentioned that I am in A Chorus Line and there are approximately 3,056 sharp movements in that show? Thought I would throw that in there. You know, just in case you were gonna tell me to stay away from sharp movements for a while. And getting up. And maybe try holding off on that whole pesky breathing thing for at least a day. Cause unfortunately, I've got to get up to do the sharp movements in the first place and breathe the whole time throughout. There's just no way around any of it, I am afraid.

But Jessica, you're all dying to know, How in the world did you re-injure your rib?

Well, how badly would you judge me if I said that it involved a completely harmless and athletic pole-dancing class? And I followed it up by saying that it did not involve one ogling man, one bit of stripping (well, I did roll up my pants at one point, but that hardly counts. Oh wait, I also took off my shoes, which is a form of stripping. Shoot.), nor did it involve anything that I would be embarrassed to do in front of my mom. In fact, I'd be proud to do it--she would have been oohing and aahing, seeing me swinging around that pole and climbing it like a monkey.

A really tall, (comparatively)hairless monkey who recently got her hair highlighted.

But the climbing part. That's when I slammed my poor, just healed rib into the pole and hurt it all over again. I didn't think it was that bad until the show tonight. And let me tell you, I started thinking it was that bad all over again. Not call-out-of-the-show bad. But bad enough to make my movement a little daintier than usual.

So there you go, that's the bad news.

The good news?

We're talking boxes around here, folks. Many, many boxes of all different shapes and sizes which will soon be packed with anything ranging from the child's Mickey Mouse tee my dear friend Kevin bought me in Disney World this past February to the pair of brown boots I thought I'd wear but have rarely done so to the small collection of sharks I have seemed to pick up on the road. Yes, that's right, these beloved boxes are going to be filled to the brim with the contents of my trunk which has been filled to the brim with the contents from my home since last April. LAST APRIL, cause that bears repeating. And capitalization. And how about getting some italics all up in here? LAST APRIL. And let's make it bold, too, just for kicks. LAST APRIL. Because that's how long I've been on the road, filling up that trunk. Since last april, 2008.

But now I am finally getting myself ready to go home. With boxes.

And that is some good news.

Aren't you glad I saved the best for last?

Why sneezing is just no fun at all anymore.

The first night after the roller coaster incident, I did what I always do when I am nervous that there is something wrong.

I went straight to a google search.

And boy they weren't kidding about one thing: It hurts like a sonofagun to sneeze with a cracked rib.

I was in the ladies locker room at the Y and don't worry, I was doing a modified workout. A very slow climb on the elliptical machine and some good old fashioned, doesn't-involve-the-ribs leg work.

But anyway.

While in the locker room, I felt it coming on and remembered about the warnings I had read on the web a second too late. See, generally I relish a good sneeze. The second after a sneeze must be the way sinuses were before the fall of man, just as God intended. It's a clear and invigorating breath with no hinderances whatsoever. Perfection, really.

But all that changes with a cracked rib.

The sneeze came out accompanied by a sharp pain and a heaving protest from within. And though I tried to strangle it mid-entrance, I only managed to make a loud whelping sound and startle every innocent bystander in the locker room.

I sounded like a goat or something.

In fact, those who only heard it and did not actually see it probably rolled their eyes in disdain and wondered to themselves why management puts up signs that say PLEASE NO GOATS IN THE LOCKER ROOM only to have selfish patrons ignore it altogether.

Thankfully I only have a cracked rib right now and not a cracked rib and a cold, so that sneeze was a singular event.

A cold on top of my state of being at the moment would be a one-two punch that would be hard to sustain, I think.