Anyway.... So I wondered why I felt so good, and I realized that it's probably because I've been relatively pain-free since sometime last week, thanks to my new inflatable, donut-shaped butt cushion. I don't know why the butt cushion works, since the doctors have yet to determine the cause of the Mystery Pain, but it does work. But that got me thinking.
The pain isn't (usually) intense. It's just fairly constant. It's there all the time and I don't know where it comes from. So, it's almost more of a nuisance than anything else. But it was there. All the time. And now it's not.
Is the absence of pain, even pain that mild, enough to actually cause a sense of mild euphoria? I guess so. And that's interesting. In theory, the goodness will fade as I become accustomed to generally not being in pain. But in the mean time, it just feels so good, it's like I'm on drugs, except that I'm allowed to operate heavy machinery.
Ode to a Butt Cushion
Small, blue balloon upon which I sit,
To thee I owe my rest.
You comfort that through which I shit,
And help me through my day.
I fill you with my very breath,
When sitting at my desk,
And in return, you help me with
Your round torus-like way.
I think of you, my plastic friend,
Each time I use a chair,
You give support to my rear end,
And leave me free from grief.
And how you seem to offer hope
To my poor derrière,
Creating without any dope,
A measure of relief.
My doctor couldn't help me find,
The cause of my distress,
And I suspect that in her mind,
It isn't even real.
I wonder, though, that if she felt
Discomfort such as this,
Would I let her play as she dealt,
Without any appeal?
I want to think that I would take
Her to the dollar store,
And show her where to get a break
From all her suffering.
To share with her the pleasure that,
You've brought to one so poor,
And I'd know that the doctor sat,
Upon your sweet sibling.
O' sweet butt cushion, I love you,
You've saved a suff'ring lass,
From always knowing senseless pain,
From sitting on my ass!