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Yesterday, my right arm hurt.

I thought, as most artists probably do, "Oh, sweet lord, the tendonitis cometh," and glumly called it a sick day. I spent most of the day bummed, as my faithful appendage, 'pon whom my livelihood relies, had betrayed me. I looked forward to a grim, if distant, future of pain and misery and learning to paint with my left hand. I sulked.

Then, 'long about eight in the evening, I picked up some Chinese food, and my brain went "AHA!" because holding the bag set my arm on fire and I realized--it's not drawing that did it, it's that I'm a moron. The day before, I had gone to the store, and rather than get a cart, I was all macho and picked up a basket. Except that I had about twenty pounds of hardcover books in there from visiting the used book store, and then I got milk and cream and eggs and pasta sauce and frozen crap and the end result was that the basket was insanely heavy to lift, and I really needed both hands, but I made my right arm do it anyway while I wandered aimlessly around the store looking for things I'd forgotten, because I'm an idiot. (I'm not just wussing here, it was really heavy. Who'd've thought two books of Morrocan photography would weigh so MUCH?)

So my faithful limb did not shirk its usual duty, it was rebelling against overuse. It's not the drawing, (although the six hours of painting on top of the strain probably didn't help matters much) it was a one time misery. And I feel much better today, so all is right with the cosmos, and I will be very gentle with my poor abused arm this weekend, and hopefully it will forgive me.

I am just now getting to the age where if I abuse my body, there is a reaction. And I am really not used to that--my body was such a stoic taker of grief in my youth that it's hard to get used to.

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Hmmm.. I understand completely. It took me several years to get used to it. In my line of work I occasionally have to run people down and believe me the next day or so I'm limping like a very old man. Just one of the ::sarcastically speaking:: joys of aging. the ONLY good thing about aging is that it beats the alternative.
I knew I was getting old when the following event happened:
A 45 year old woman walked by my desk. I said :"damn!" in a surprised tone. John a older Gay coworker said" she looked good didn't she?." I replied "yes sir.", He replied "welcome to getting older.".
Now before I get slammed let me just say I have nothing against older women it's just up until say 5 years ago they held no erotic interst for me. oh well,
Welcome to the beginning of the end Ursula.

You're just now getting there? Damn! I feel ripped off, that started happening to me the moment I hit 20...

Some unsolicited advice: soaking the abused limb in an epsom salt bath (draws the lactic acid and other bodily toxins due to overuse out of the muscle tissue), some gentle massage (same), drinking a good amount of water (to give those toxins a method of getting out of your body), some stretching, and that arm should start feeling better. Eeep, sorry for that run-on sentence.

If you can find a decent massage therapist in the area, getting your arm/arms worked on every now and then might be some good preventative medicine in avoiding tendonitis. If you can find a good private practitioner (ie. one that does not charge high spa/clinic fees) who specializes in injury treatment...pot o' gold.

Sad isn't it. As long as you're unaware of your bodyparts it's all good. It's when you remember you have an arm or a leg that things get iffy.

At least you can chalk up your random bodily aches to old age. I’ve had a horrible back ach for a month and a half, and I’m 18! Stupid mattress... *grumble*

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