Night of the Zombie Dork

Here's how I spent my Halloween: By walking slowly and stiffly, with a distant look on my face, groaning and grunting and scaring my boy.

Did I dress like a zombie? (BRRAAAAAIINS!) Hardly. I threw my back out.

(Excuse me now while I curse like a sailor and yell.)

I'd like to say that I threw my back out while valiantly defending my family from a gang of thieves or an army of black-clad ninjas; or that I was hoisting a piano upstairs by myself. The sad reality is that I hurt my back sitting down, which I still don't understand, because I sit down dozens of times every day. I'm an EXPERT at sitting down. At least I thought I was. Now that my lower back is screaming at me I have my doubts.

Much of the neighborhood knew that I did this because I screamed like a Packers fan after a Brett Favre touchdown (for the Vikings). This scared The Boy, who had to witness his father crumple to the ground, whining like a school girl. He usually only sees this when I realize that it's time to change the diaper pail.

"Is he going to DIE?" The Boy asked.

No, boy. I only FEEL like I'm going to die.

I hate back pain, because I feel so old. And this one was bad, too, so I feel really old -- zombie old. Every move I make is stiff and slow and is punctuated by a groan or a small prayer or a what-the-hell-am-I-going-through-this-for? Everything I do is preceded by a mental cost-benefit analysis (do I REALLY need to use the bathroom?) because its completion is just so difficult.

About the only good thing about my back is that it gets me out of baby care (either because I can't effectively pick up the baby or because my wife has legitimate questions about whether I really am a zombie) and house work. (I'm really sorry, dear, but I just CAN'T rake the yard; back problems, you know.) It also gives me something to complain about, and blog about. I'm getting waited upon by my wonderful wife, and I get to act like a zombie without her telling me "Hey, quit acting like a zombie."

(I know what you're thinking: "Hey, that back pain doesn't sound so bad!" But it's almost like I made a deal with the devil, or Alanis Morrisette: I get everything I want, but I have to endure a searing, debilitating pain to get it. I'd rather rake the yard and change diapers.)

So I'll have to go to the doctor today, and if I'm lucky he'll prescribe powerful painkillers and a cane. I've always wanted a really cool cane, which I could wave while chasing kids off of my lawn. Heck, if I'm going to feel this old, I might as well get some of the benefits.

Now excuse me. I've got a craving for some BRRRRAAAAAINS!!!