When did getting up off the floor become such a freaking problem?

[Grokenstein]

66. Ah, that was the day I officially became Old

Tripped on some uneven sidewalk while carrying a fragile item, and instinctively held the item up with both arms as I hit the concrete. Couldn't get up for several minutes. Pair of jerks sitting in a truck less than thirty feet away didn't even laugh, just watched as I alternated between struggling and resting. Bruised ribs didn't get better for days. Fun!

One night not long after, I was speed-walking around the workplace after shift for exercise, went around a large container and tripped over a black vehicle chock in its shadow. Down I go again, this time with the bonus penalty of a heavy backpack I can't wriggle out of. An entire van with a sanitation crew drives by--inches from my head--and once again everyone gawks but nobody stops or helps. I think it was the blind rage that finally got me up on my feet...a few minutes later.

Now it's a daily ritual of Tylenol and Aspercreme and waiting for the next joint to flare up...and the one that, at long last, never gets better. In the meantime, I stupidly adhere to Batman's bullheaded philosophy of persisting into an early grave:

Batman: "You don't ignore pain, you use it."
Superman: "For what?"
Batman: "Motivation."