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那天半夜,我的肩膀像被斧头劈了似的剧烈地痛着,我惊醒过来。好不容易熬到天亮,要去看医生。一如往常,我把随身物品收拾好:一台笔记本电脑,一本精装诗词,一摞讲义夹,背在另一边的肩膀上出了门。医生为我做了检查,说没有什么大问题。“没有问题?可我真的好痛啊!”在我的抱怨声中,医生看见我放在一旁的背包,他问:“是你的?”我点点头。他用手去拎,掂了掂重量,问我:“这么重,最少也有五千克吧?你每天
That night, my shoulder ached violently like an ax, and I woke up. Finally boil dawn, go to see a doctor. As usual, I packed my belongings: a laptop, a hardcover poem, a stack of handouts, and a door on the shoulder on the other side. The doctor did a check for me and said there was no big problem. ”No problem? But I really hurts ah!“ In my complaints, the doctor saw me aside the backpack, he asked: ”is you? “ I nodded. He hand to carry, 掂 掂 weight, asked me: ”so heavy, at least five kilograms, right? Every day you