Chicks with sticks

It's odd that it's the little adjustments that prove the most discomforting. Take shaking hands, for instance. Do you know how many times a week the average man shakes hands with someone? No, neither do I. But it shouldn't be something to be afraid of, unless you've got OCD I suppose, or you're Abu Hamza al-Masri (not that he'd get too many offers). But for me the offer of an extended hand creates an awkward resentment, often culminating in some bizarre acceptance where left meets right and what began as a greeting ends as holding hands! Or I grit my teeth and loosely flop my fiery hand around theirs hoping for mercy. You'd think by now I'd have some lame excuse primed and ready to unleash at the merest hint of a handshake. So far I've done the 'sprained wrist' (lasted about a month), fell off my bike (what am I, like 12?!) and, best of all, putting it down to a 'bad wrist day'. Who has those for fucks sake? Sometimes though, usually when I've had a few, the ol' denial comes barging through demanding to be taken seriously, only to be left broken and ashamed in the grip of some ex-para who's friendliness reverberates through my squealing bones.

Still, handshakes can be avoided. But I'm not sure the same can be said about red wine. I like a nice glass of red. Fuck it, I like a nice bottle of red. But as I discovered this morning the feeling is not mutual. Red wine hates me! It poisons my blood, it rusts up my joints. This fucking disease is losing me good friends and alienating potential ones. And you can forget about pulling, foxy chicks ain't into sticks (sorry, that was awful)! And even when they do talk to me, I'm so acutely tuned that any slight blip of pity is met with my immediate non-compliance. Don't get wrong, of course I've played on it to get a cup of tea here and there, who wouldn't? But answer me this, when you the last time you saw a wounded lion humping his hard fought prize on the Discovery Channel? My point. So I need to watch what I drink, watch what I eat, and watch what I smoke, bomb, snort and inject. I need to come up with an excuse to avoid shaking hands (note to self: invent new religion) and above all I need to start treating RA with more respect. Maybe then she'd give me less of a hard time.