Tendonitis

My left shoulder throbs, from a night of carrying trays full of glasses, arm-lengths of plates, bus pans, crates, garbage cans.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the film 127 Hours.  In the movie, the main character has to cut off his own arm in order to free himself after being pinned by a boulder for five days.  He makes a choice to live.  He has to break his own arm, and then saw it off with a dull knife, and finally snap the tendons free.

My arm cries out to me.  Every shift I work.  It tells me, “You can free yourself.  You are trapped.  This arm is pinned, but you can cut it off.  You can escape.”