The Tortoise and The Pretzel

I sat down, oh about half an hour ago, to write wrathfully about the cult of death and the utter absurdity of elaborately wrapping corpses and then burying them but somewhere between the slowness of start up and the irritating conductor on tv I lost the rage. I don't quite seem able to hold it these days. All I have now are snippets, half forgotten things, half rotten things, and half written things. I wonder if I will ever get back to them.
Last night I spent quality time on the phone with my parents as my mother attempted to explain yoga postures that are supposed to be good for my little nerve problem. Step by step instructions via mobile phone. Now do this, now do that. Woman are you crazy, that's not physically possible. Inside or outside the legs. Put daddy on. Daddy, what's she doing now? Ah. Bloody woman's dyslexic.
I need to sort out the yoga thing. And then the physiotherapist thing. And then maybe a pilates thing. And then maybe a whole entire life thing. Mostly I need to sort out my back. Ouch. Alcohol and painkillers might not be best practice. Fun though.