I am counting again.
My shoulders are getting worse.
The pain in the right shoulder has moved down so that I can feel the spasms in my right side. Now the tips of my fingers are numb and the rest of my hand is quickly following suit.
I try rolling my shoulders and neck to relieve a bit of the pressure, like someone is pressing down on me with both hands, pushing me into the ground.
I am rewarded with a sharp jab, a hot flash of pain moving down my arm and further down my side. I can now feel the muscles on my left side tightening in sympathy of the right.
And still the beat of music, that tattoo of rythem, pulses under my skin. It sings in time to the beat of my heart, slow and steady and there.
But still I type, still I write, still I walk. I will not allow myself to crumble and fall.
That would be cowardice.