The Pain Lens
September 18, 2025 — A day tinted by pain, movement, and the first spark of Living With Fire
Morning
10:45 AM
Woke late after snoozing the alarm. My hip ached deeply, and I noticed how easy it is to see life through what I call the pain lens. From inside it, every choice looks smaller: better not move, better not risk it. Yet when I finally stood, the discomfort shifted. Pain is fluid, not fixed — but the lens can still paint the day if I let it.

Midday
1:30 PM
Sat at my desk with a cappuccino. Responded to texts and a customer about an iPhone XR repair. She hesitated, checked prices elsewhere, but agreed when I offered a discount. Meanwhile, Whisper AI processed a long Zoom call transcript. The work was steady, grounding, ordinary.
Afternoon
3:20 PM
Took 1.8 g kratom. Within an hour my mood lifted, pain eased, and my face flushed warm in the office. By 4 PM, I was at the shop — light workflow, a few repairs, nothing heavy.
Evening
7:00 PM
Back home, I sat outside with cacao, watering my apple trees. Tried again to coax fire ants into stinging my hip, hoping for the venom’s sting to spark some release — but they wouldn’t bite.
7:40 PM
Rode my bicycle through the neighborhood, then onto the Rail Trail into town and back. Thirty minutes total, steady but careful. On the way, I met Santiago, a 12-year-old from down the street riding an electric scooter. We slapped five, and he began asking personal questions, some of them surprising for his age. The exchange was awkward at times, but I reminded myself: he’s young, curious, learning.
9:00 PM
Called my mom while riding home, wishing my nephew a happy birthday through her when I couldn’t reach him directly. Later, I watered more trees, ate leftover chili beans, and spoke with my friend Benny while finishing the yard chores.
Night
10:30 PM
Ran a hot bath with lavender and Epsom salts, melatonin and magnesium easing me into rest. Reflected on the day — the “pain lens” that tried to dominate the morning, the fragile triumph of biking again, the strange encounter with Santiago, the simple grounding of watering trees.
I searched online for first-person accounts of people living with hip infections or MRSA. Found almost nothing — just medical reports, sterile and detached. It made me wonder if I should write the kind of record I was searching for. Perhaps this was the night the series itself began — born out of what I could not find in others’ stories.
Closing Reflection
This day began inside the pain lens but ended in lavender water, trees, and small triumphs. What I didn’t find in books or blogs may be exactly what I’m meant to create.
Cross-Link
This entry is part of my series Living With Fire. Each chapter is shared in two ways:
• 📜 Narrative Essay (Substack): polished reflection of [Sept 18] → [Read on Substack]
• 🌐 This RAW Journal is part of the Living With Fire archive → [Browse the Archive]
Navigate the Series