Fun in Agony

Having a bruised chest is actually a lot of fun.  Little melodramas play out in my head all the time.  If you recall, I bruised it after colliding with another chaser during a Quidditch match on Sunday, and it's still sore. 

Some examples of fun include

• feeling like you've just rent your chest in twain after throwing base balls as hard as you can at 3-Pitch, and wondering, if you die here in the outfield, will anyone notice?
• when you stretch to reach for your phone from your bed and speculate that the searing pain in your chest is heart-related and that you've only minutes left to live.
• running to a destination very vigorously with a heavy shoulder bag pulling across your chest, and stopping at the end, breathing heavingly, certain that a chestburster is about to pop out.  (Gory demonstration)
• imagining during kendo drills that the pain is just a flesh wound imposed upon you by a samurai's live katana across the chest.

Today I realised I've had a bruised chest once before, which was actually the result of severe coughing due to a cold.  Then I had the pleasure of lying in bed, feeling quite sick and miserable and wondering whether the pain would be the last thing I felt before my certainly imminent hacking demise.

I'm not sure why this amuses me so.  I suppose it's a fun experience given the probability that nothing's actually broken or permanent, and helps improve my appreciation for good health.  Yay!  Ouch!