"Well, I certainly seem to have gotten myself into a pickle, here."
I actually said those words out loud this morning. In previous blog entries, I've mentioned that I'm a fat guy. In addition, I have a minor muscle disease - the specifics are irrelevant, but my muscles are about half as strong as those of a normal male of my age group. This is something that is, in general, not overly limiting, and I've learned to deal with it. But sometimes I just don't think ahead, and today, it bit me on the ass.
Being a fat guy, I have a fat guy office chair. I can use a standard office chair, but the fat guy chair is big and comfortable, with an extra wide seat, movable arm rests, and a tilting back that lets one assume a semi-reclining position. Semi-reclining. We're not talking La-Z-Boy here, this is just an office chair, not a place for lounging around. Of course, I routinely lean as far back as possible, just to think or to stretch out. No worries, though - it's a well-balanced chair, and is almost impossible to tip over.
So this morning, I was working on my book, having a little writer's block, unsurprisingly. I was having trouble figuring out how my Hero was supposed to retrieve the stolen documents from inside the zebra without killing it or its unborn calf, and I was at a complete impasse. I leaned back to ponder, and as I reached the usual reclining limit of the chair, I heard a loud "SNAP," tipped back about an additional foot, and stopped. I didn't go to the ground, but I was leaned way back, with my back almost perpendicular to the ground, legs at about head level.
This situation may not sound so bad, but considering my muscle strength, I knew I was fuuuuuuucked. I felt exactly like the proverbial turtle on its back. I was simply not strong enough in my legs or abdominals to right the chair. You know how you can start a swing in motion by moving your lower legs? No use in my case, there just wasn't enough space to generate any momentum. Mac was already on the way to work, so no help there. The cats were, of course, utterly indifferent.
"Well, I certainly seem to have gotten myself into a pickle, here." The thought crossed my mind that I might possibly be stuck for the day, until Mrs. A. came home. The only conceivable exit seemed to be rolling off the side of the chair onto the ground, but I was about three feet off the solid wood floor, and just knew I'd break every bone in my body if I tried. I couldn't see any option, though.
Slowly, slowly, I rolled to the side, and was able to maneuver my right hand into position to prop myself up a bit. So when I did fall off the chair, it wasn't a complete disaster - my arm protected my head, I banged my knee a little, had the wind knocked out of me. Nothing major, though. I'm just really fucking happy that I've been losing some of this fat - a hundred pounds ago, I don't know what I'd have done.
The last time I felt so helpless, I was about eight. I was climbing a tree with a V-shaped branching in the trunk, slipped, and wedged my knee into the V. I was alone and utterly terrified. I remember just wailing and wailing until my Mom heard. She had to call the Fire Department to get me out. Even they couldn't dislodge me. I almost passed out when I saw the chainsaw - I was 100% certain that they were going to cut off my leg, and I begged my Mom to not let it happen. I was 8, gimme a break, man.
Point is, I have an office chair for sale, cheap!
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