Looking for the Bright Side

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

I'm pretty sure that I've used that song before. Maybe it was a different verse, however, and, anyway, it's so appropriate today that I insist on using it again, regardless.

You see, I'm in much discomfort. Just a few days after bragging to a neighbour about how wonderful my back has been for about a year or longer, it decided to go out. I hate it when that happens because I never know when it's going to come back, and it is really difficult to live without it. This morning, I am bound and determined to spend some time sitting at the computer, but even that is problematic because I can hardly tilt my head a fraction without sending spasms all the way down to my hips.

But I don't quite know what else to do with myself, so I'll force myself to sit here for a while. Yesterday, I read an Inspector Rebus mystery while trying to remain as immobile as possible. I have two more Rebus tomes on hand, and I'll get to them because there's not much else for me to do, but I don't feel up to another romp around the criminal underbelly of Edinburgh just yet.

I feel badly for Cuppa. It's her birthday week, and I am hardly fit to help her celebrate. Last night, we had planned to hear a female choir that is touring from Cornell University. Needless to say, we didn't. Fortunately, she has a good day planned without me. She's out to Tai Chi this morning, followed by lunch out for and with her fellow graduates from the beginner class. And she can go out to line dancing tonight while I assist Inspector Rebus in puzzling out (get it? rebus puzzle) another Scottish mystery.

When it rains it pours, however. Yesterday, I dragged my sore back to the doctor to see about my sore finger [sic] — the one that has plagued me since I took up the fiddle ... the fiddle upon which I must stop fiddling for now and perhaps forever. She has referred me to a plastic surgeon. Oh joy! How does that song go again?