I’m pretty strong, but I’ve got a neck injury I just can’t shake. It’s worse in the mornings, as soon as I peel myself out of bed. I’m stiff all the way to work. I can’t look over my right shoulder. I’ve found that, if I bother to, I can check my blind spot using the magic mirror swivel knob on the dash. Amazing.

I should go to the doctor. I asked a few coworkers what doctor to go to. One, who’s dad is a doctor, had no idea. Neither did the others. I think they’re all out to get me. It’s like they enjoy seeing me in pain, and they don’t want me to go to the doctor. No, he might fix me. That’s what they’re doing.

I’m in the least amount of pain right now, and I could get on my insurance provider’s website and look someone up. But I’m afraid. I’ll make an appointment, have some expensive tests done, and the doctor will give me a pill for the pain. He’ll treat the symptom, but have no idea why I’m in pain.

And that’s the thing: neither do I. “Neck hurts,” is too vague. I woke up one morning a couple of weeks ago, feeling fine. I had breakfast. Somewhere in the midst of all that not sleeping and eating breakfast, my neck hurt. I didn’t fall down stairs, battle a vicious lion, or carry any felled trees. I ate breakfast. I lifted the damn spoon and opened my mouth.

I’m out of shape. I see this. It is clear. Crystal. Physical activity is called for.

Too bad I can’t exercise. Why?

See, I’ve got this neck injury…