(no subject)
Brian wasn't sure he could handle sleeping on the floor of a cave anymore. The back of his neck was killing him. No amount of turning or cracking or self-massage seemed to get all of the kinks out and it was driving him crazy because, of course, the island didn't have any pain reliever. Which only begged the quesiton of why the doctors couldn't run out of stupid things to do and decide maybe to come up with a cheap knock-off of ibuprofen.
There were other ways of ignoring physical discomfort, but with all those doors of possible stress relief shut to him... The hell if he knew what to do.
Obviously he didn't really trust anyone to help him out either. Not with accupuncture or anything like that anyway. There were a lot of reasons why he didn't ask for help. Number one being that Brian Moser did not ask for help. Ever. Reason number two was germs. He doubted many of the other islanders washed their hands. He didn't want their gross, sweaty, unwashed digits anywhere near his skin. The third most obvious reason was incompetence. He had no desire to have the pain spread to his shoulders or back.
Since the island had bamboo and he vaguely remembered someone saying that was useful, he'd gone off in search of a pole and returned to the compound rec room to find a book on what to do. He was more than willing to embarrass himself by drinking shitty bamboo tea if the pain went away.
After finding Chinese Home Remedies: Harnessing Ancient Wisdom For Self-healing, he pulled a chair out from one of the tables. Then he sat down, propped his feet up on the table top after setting the bamboo down there as well, and looked through the index.
When the jukebox started playing "Let's Hang On" by the Four Seasons, he sighed mildly. Yeah, like that song had anything to do with him. It was going to be a long night.
There were other ways of ignoring physical discomfort, but with all those doors of possible stress relief shut to him... The hell if he knew what to do.
Obviously he didn't really trust anyone to help him out either. Not with accupuncture or anything like that anyway. There were a lot of reasons why he didn't ask for help. Number one being that Brian Moser did not ask for help. Ever. Reason number two was germs. He doubted many of the other islanders washed their hands. He didn't want their gross, sweaty, unwashed digits anywhere near his skin. The third most obvious reason was incompetence. He had no desire to have the pain spread to his shoulders or back.
Since the island had bamboo and he vaguely remembered someone saying that was useful, he'd gone off in search of a pole and returned to the compound rec room to find a book on what to do. He was more than willing to embarrass himself by drinking shitty bamboo tea if the pain went away.
After finding Chinese Home Remedies: Harnessing Ancient Wisdom For Self-healing, he pulled a chair out from one of the tables. Then he sat down, propped his feet up on the table top after setting the bamboo down there as well, and looked through the index.
When the jukebox started playing "Let's Hang On" by the Four Seasons, he sighed mildly. Yeah, like that song had anything to do with him. It was going to be a long night.