My Lower Back is an Asshole (And Other Tangentially Related Crap)

(Miracle Man thinks people might see this title and think I’ve had some sort of unfortunate rerouting of my internal workings. Rest assured I have not. Carry on.)

I’ve had on-again, off-again back pain for most of my adult life. I’ve usually been able to write it off – maybe I bent wrong or picked up something that was too heavy or not been careful enough in a recent workout. But lately the pain has been more on-again than off-again, seriously putting a crimp in my lifestyle. So I finally broke down and saw my doctor.

And That’s Why We Have Something Called "Indoors"

In the far recesses of my long-ago memory, I fondly remember camping with my family. I was a wee little Sassyfat in those days, not even a big sister yet. We camped at the beach and in the mountains, and the activities always involved stuff like hiking and fishing. To this day, the musty aroma of tent canvas and pungent aroma of bug spray always make me smile. I loved camping – when I was too little to be expected to carry stuff, help pitch tents, cook anything, or clean up the campsite. When I was just a tiny little tagalong whose only job was to stay within sight of my parents, camping was a whole lot of fun.