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Well, fuck, my phone is dying, probably out of exhaustion. Luckily, I insured it so replacing costs me $5. Aaaaaaarrrrgh. Still.

I want a new fucking knee. If I take ALL the pills, the pain is....better. Problem is, I'm a wuss. That stuff knocks me out.

I deal with crap by moving furniture and doing massive piles of laundry. Or scrubbing. Scrubbing is VERY good. But I find this knee business personally offensive. I feel like my knee has betrayed me. I always treated my knees well, and this is what they do to me? (Or at least one of them, that is.) Well, at least, I treated them better than, say, my ankles. If this were a movie, my knee would be taking the role of the whichever character is addressed with, (very melodramatically) "You BETRAYED ME!" I'n not sure what that says about MY role in all this. Does this kind of make me the villain? I'm pretty sure my knee should be the bad guy here. I'd be the trusting ingenue, except, well, I left "ingenue" somewhere in LA about (coughcough) years ago.

And you know what? I am totally sober while I type this, even as I imagine my knee acting like Peter Lorre in "Casablanca."

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