Backs are important

I have a back. It is the back of my body; but not my whole body. Just the back of my torso/chest region. Not the back of my legs and arms, nor the back of my head. Those you have to specify-- for instance, the back of my thigh. It's all relative though. Sometimes when my I turn my head almost 180 degrees around my stomach and chest become my back. In that case I have no idea what to call the area below my shoulders.

I have a back. Today my back was not in use. Out of order. On vacation. No warning.

Not. In. Use.

Backs must hate us. Every other body part has a proper name. Metatarsals, elbows, biceps. The back has no identity. It is completely dependant on the front. Without the front the back is nothing.

This is my theory on why my back checked-out this morning: it resents me for speaking so generally about it and taking it for granted. And I completely and utterly do. I never think about the importance of my back until it's no longer functioning, at which point I get frustrated with it. But that's not just, now is it, back?

Back constantly supports me in all of my endeavors. Back allows me to stand up for myself. Back is willing to conform to all of my wishes, relaxing when I sleep and exerting itself while I'm mobile. Back goes out of its way for me constantly, bending to my needs, and I never appreciate Back.

As of now, Back is functioning at 75%. I think Back just wanted to give me a taste of what life would be like without its presence. Well, Back, today I learned that you are an integral part of my active existence.

You are no longer Back to me, but from this day forth you are Bert. I won't let anyone disrespect you or underappreciate you. If anyone throws a "Burt Back-arach" you're way they're going to be hearing about if from me.

I can tell that Bert and I are going to be friends already...