Lax Ball to Piriformis, and the Quadrillion Ways in which ONE puts Themselves above the Other

I’m not even sure what a quadrillion is? Four times something and that means table legs or solid foundations in a tarot spread, able to carry a lot of zero’s. Sounds fairly hyperbolic, like a child pushing a smaller from the couch, standing atop a precarious stack of pillows while pumping her arm in the air, and shouting, “Oh, yeah? That’s all you got? Well, I’m going to be a QUADrillionaire!”

Like the green physical therapist with his new CK glasses and Doctorate’s Degree, who wants only to show me his diagraming skills and knowledge of every little muscle—an expert on anatomy, with the circles he spins, there must be close to a quadrillion in relation and the way he speaks down to me.

Mentions more than thrice that it’s a complex matter he wouldn’t expect a lay one like me to understand, even though he knows zilch about me, just his magnified self and flimsy assumptions for one hour and ten.

We end with me, all four on the floor, him checking if I can properly lift opposite arm and leg. All reduces to the stretch for a tight butt--roll a lacrosse ball on the soft spot while bending a knee.

“Oh, and try a bird dog with leg extension.”