And the weasle goes pop.

I've had structural pops before. When I was in high school I had a bad knee that I became accustomed to nursing. When it suddenly locked up mid stride I would fall on my face and reel in pain for a moment, realizing after a few seconds that I could shove the cartilage into place by pulling my knee to my chest. A satisfying pop would let me know I could stand again as soon as I wasn't dizzy from the pain.

I was pushing barrels into the winery yesterday when my legs started to get waxy. I felt like I was walking through the slow drip of making hand made candles. Slowly, towards the end of the ascent into the barrel room, I felt a pop in my right hamstring. I haven't had that much pain in a while, and I have never felt muscle do that. Cartilage, yes. Muscle, non.

I got through a few more barrels, limping on my right side, before I tried turning a barrel that was full of water. I squatted, I used my knees. I compensated because I suddenly realized that I had an ineffective hamstring, and now my back pops.

I need to go home.

Home is the Acme, a bar that lets me smoke and sells me $2 beer. I go there to avoid the weird lulling-highway-ensuing-local-rush on the streets. I spend an hour there and get home before I would have if I went straight off the freeway. There are people there I have come to know. There are people there that remind me of Portland and I trust them. One of them gives me a half a Vicadin that I take when I get home. I sleep like a baby, waking up to the sweet sweet pop of my back falling into place. Hammies are sore, calves feel like steamrollers did their jobs on them, but I can walk again.