My Own Personal Crystal Ball

Last night, I got a glimpse of my very sad future as a 100-year-old woman. You see, I hurt my back. That's right...go ahead and snicker...it's funny until it happens to you. Sadly, I didn't hurt it mountain climbing or lifting weights or playing volleyball or anything cool like that. I hurt it sitting in my chair at work. One second I'm typing, the next I'm thinking, "Wow, my back hurts."

I spent my Friday night lying in bed with a heating pad, watching Babycakes, a great 80s made-for-TV movie where Ricki Lake stars as the fat girl who gets the guy, and Golden Girls episodes. Again, let me repeat -- Friday night. Babycakes. Golden Girls. Heating pad. 30 years old. Speaking of Golden Girls, I just took the Which Golden Girl are You test and I was Blanche. (OK, I was Dorothy first and retook the quiz, but come on...who wants to be Dorothy?)

I only moved last night to get painkillers. For some reason, I only have cough syrup in my medicine cabinet so I hobbled off to CVS and lurched around the store like a hunchback, with crazy eyes and hair sticking up all over my head to boot.

I couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in - the painkillers kind of didn't work that great - so I tossed and turned most of the night. I was also petrified that if it didn't get better, I'd have to cancel my plans to go strawberry picking with some peeps from work this morning or even worse - I'd have to go to the doctor because my back hurt.

I'm telling you, between my recent discovery of gray hairs, Shar Pei-like forehead and strained back, I'm thisclose to turning into one of the Golden Girls. Just don't make me share a bed with my mom!