If there's one thing that amuses me about life, it's just as you think you've gained a lot of wisdom and pretty much done everything, something comes along that makes you think 'I didn't realise that could happen,' and 'Shit.'
When I went to bed on Monday night it was a little muggy, not really necessary to keep a fan on overnight. Nonetheless I had been using it throughout the evening and thought it might be nice to leave it on to keep the room cool, not rotating but fixed, a cool breeze playing over my bed from a distance.
So I passed out. When I woke up naked, most of the duvet on the far side of the bed, I was fucking paralysed. Who'd have thought that 7 hours of constant cold air blasted at your back while you lie there unconscious would cripple you?
According to my boss, five people in Korea once died by sleeping with a fan on them. I'm not sure how he knows that.
Two days on and my back's still fucked. It hurts to lie down. I'm even having to sleep like the Elephant Man, besides looking like him. I think I might have to go see a doctor.
After receiving my first email from Lovely Young Lady and writing back, I'd still heard nothing in nearly two weeks. Now I couldn't give up; after all, I'd met her, got on phenomenally well, tracked down her email and received a nice lenghty reply just a couple of hours later. Surely I'm not so inept that my follow-up email would put her off for life?
Twelve days pass. I consider that maybe she didn't like what she read and decided never to reply. I also consider that maybe she's been out of town for a fortnight, or virulently busy, or by some technological quirk never received my second email. So I wrote a third time, no mention of her non-reply, trying to keep it funny, nice and cool.
She hasn't replied again. I think it's safe to surmise that she doesn't want to speak, see, or have anything to do with me forevermore. Lovely young lady, my arse.
Great. Now my back has gone into spasm.