Begin and keep up a BLOG right here on good ole 43 Things.

...this will firmly cement crippledom as an institution around these here parts…

Tuesday morning, I get my Permanent Gimp Parking Hanger Thingy.

All the good spaces will then be mine, MINE, I TELL YOU!

...but I set her next to my keyboard so you can see how small she really is.

(One day I’ll remember to have the kid buy me some new batteries for my digital camera to replace the ones she stole…)

Ok, yet another lousy cell phone photo. But I wanted you to get an idea of just how small a three pound hound is.

Small.

...is going to be working over in the Bay for a couple weeks. Jeny is driving her to Oakland pretty soon.

Why does this make me nervous?

Well, Maya and me, looking, I might note, like a fucking lunatic! Ah, well…who really gives a shit, you know?

So…Maya belongs to the niece of a friend of mine. The niece is an asshole and a twat and hasn’t taken very good care of Maya, in addition to being thrown out of her apartment for some reason. So she’s going to live with my friend, since the niece has no place else to go, but Maya can’t go along.

Ergo, the little shit is living here for a while.

She’s eight years old and weighs three pounds and seems to be getting along with the rest of the pod just fine.

I’ve been hurt for over 16 months now, and I thought I knew all there was to know about my fucking feet, especially the one that’s fucked up.

But if you think that, dear reader, (I always wanted to write something like that. It’s usually used in travel writing and stuff like that. Pretty cool, huh? Let me try that again, for effect…)

But if you think that, dear reader, you’d be mistaken, for just the other day I learned something completely new about my fucked foot.

I have a wood deck here, one that gets full sun for a couple hours in the afternoon. The dogs love to sun themselves…so the other day I found myself out around 2.30 or so in the pm, talking to them as they roasted in the sun. Unfortunately I realized way too late that my feet were fucking on fire, as well!

Dumbass! you know?

But wait…

...ah…only ONE foot is burning like I was standing on a hot griddle. The un-fucked foot.

Could that be right?

I stepped out of the forgiving shade and put my right foot on one of the full sun places. Almost immediately I could feel the bottom of my foot being to scream at me. It was near 90 outside. I don’t know what the temp of the deck was…hot.

Then I pulled my roasted right foot back in the shade and put my fucked foot in exactly the same place my right foot had been just seconds before. No sensation of heat at all. In fact, it kinda feels cooler than the other foot.

I repeated that highly scientific experiment a couple times and on cement, as well as wood.

Same conclusion. I can’t feel heat in the bottom of my fucked foot.

Cool. Maybe…certainly different.

Yet…who is Maya?

That sure is a lousy picture, Unc.

I agree…a better picture, with an introduction, will follow…sometime today…

Proof:

Before my injury, I virtually never got soap and shampoo in my eyes when showering.

After my injury, I always get soap and shampoo in my eyes.

Conclusion:

Showering causes blindness.

Peer Review:

Dumbass.

Comments:

Once again the scientific method wins out.

...I didn’t wake up pissed off. The pissedoffness isn’t aimed at anything, no one is vexing me or anything…I just wake up steamed, and as the day goes by it gets worse and worse and then seems to lessen in the evenings.

I don’t mean to imply that I’m screaming and yelling and throwing things around and burning the dogs with cigarettes (though that IS fun,) but I just feel…well, angry. And as the day goes on, I feel angrier, until it starts to mellow, if it does, in the evening.

But not today, for some reason.

And, yes, I take an anti-depressant…and I will be seeing a psychologist beginning next week.

Still…I ain’t pissed today. It’s nice not to have a bunch of knotted muscles across my shoulders and neck.

I had that delightful procedure yesterday where they use a really long and skinny needle to go from the top of my foot into the deep, dark interior of the thing, find two really tiny little joints…and fill ‘em with a combination of anesthetic and steroids. Actually, they had to puncture the top of my foot and “drill down” twice, since they didn’t like the first position they got. A procedure that, on a hip, say, takes about fifteen minutes, took two doctors, a nurse, and an Xray tech over an hour and a half to accomplish, simply because of the size of the joints and the difficulty of finding and injecting them, so small are they. The fluoroscopic equipment even had difficulty in showing them the deep interior and the specific joints.

Plus, they kept checking with me constantly to make sure I was alright. I thought that kind of odd, but nice.

But they did it, without even ONE scream from me.

Plus, even though the two docs were some brand if Chinamen, neither one had accents, and one’s last name was Johnson or some damned thing. I meant to ask him about it, but it’s kind of hard to talk with a stick between your teeth so you don’t yell. You know, like in the old cowboy movies when they dig a bullet out of the guy’s leg or something.

Now, then…I have had no pain in my foot since then. Of course, that is sometimes the case with it normally. So the idea is that the steroids can take a couple days to begin working, assuming they do, and that IF they do, I should have some sort of relief over that time period.

We’ll see.

Next appointment with the Foot Wizard is May 20.