I woke up to pain at 3am this morning. When pain is bad enough it can be called exquisite.
Unless you are familiar with mind consuming pain you are likely to skip over this word as just an adjective meaning roughly "bad". Exquisite pain crumples the egos of grown men like paper, and brings a perspective that makes your previous state of mind embarrassingly ephemeral, as if your personal state vector was written out on the paper being crumpled. There is an edge of the map aspect to severe pain, you want nothing more than to do whatever is necessary to relieve this pain. In a moment, an instant, you are completely and absolutely devoted to the needs expressed by your body as searing pain. Free will? Free will is a luxury of the healthy and wealthy. The less health and wealth a person has the less real freedom they can exercise. As health is constricted so is the sphere of possible freedom, until there is nothing left but adjusting positions and furious thinking, seeking for a solution.
Plans are gone. Habits unusable. Exquisite pain is a small rebirth. Strength is turned on its head. The masculine ego strives to not whimper, and a smile is a victory and a macho exhibition. Writing a blog entry is a critical but pointless expression of what will the pain has left to me. I am in control, at least this much. I can express myself. Some scientists say communication is the definition of life, and this communication is my assertion that I can still be productive, and that this exquisite pain has not brought me to my knees.
This was exhausting, I must now beg rest from the pain.