Where to begin?
It is a question, no, it is the question that has plagued everyone who has ever tried to communicate, from the most brilliant writer to the first caveman who scratched up a perfectly good cave wall with messages that appeared to be insane ramblings to the rest of the tribe.
Speaking of that original set of markings, can you imagine all the information the first writer/artist wanted to convey?
- “Females are soft and warm. After you bang them over the head with a club? Not so much.”
- “Fire… good for making dead animal taste better.”
- “Fire… HOT!”
- “Beware the Kardashian tribe. Me get bad vibe from them.”
But enough about the distant past, let’s talk about recent events and how they have impacted my present… and the damage they’re going to do to my future.
First of all, I am still currently employed as a bellman. My write-up and the events that led to it are irrelevant in light of… well, you’ll soon see. Let’s just say that a really bad day effects everyone, no matter how professional they normally act, and that sometimes you run into vindictive, frigid tour guides who feel compelled to make your life a living hell even though they receive exemplary service. Long story short, I lost my temper in front of, not with, a tour guide who complained to the front desk. I was written up. My career will continue. End of story.
That story, at least.
If you’d like to read about another story, well then, you’re in the right place, friends.
You see, there was once a young man named Robert who always felt he didn’t measure up in the home improvement department… probably because he didn’t. And so, his lovely vampire-lovin’ wife, who was raised in a home of home improvement masters, did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the handyman role.
Long story short – again – Jackie has always been the one to handle the home improvements but she’s grown tired of her role and so last Thursday, while attempting to up my handyman game, I did something ridiculously stupid that I’ll be paying for, well, for the rest of my life.
Two rotten fascia boards needed to be removed from the front and side of our garage. Sounds simple enough, right? Not for me, kids. Despite the areas of rot, these suckers were nailed in tight and so, in an attempt to gain more leverage, I climbed onto a wooden sawhorse and began to bang away with a hammer.
And that’s where everything began to spiral out of control.
My hammer bounced back. I did the same. My left knee twisted and emitted a crack that filled the air. I fell to the ground, but even though I landed in a standing position, I continued to fall.
The fall wasn’t the problem, though. That crack I mentioned earlier? That was part of my left knee impacting the other with enough force to cause it to fracture.
I didn’t know any of this until the next day, when my x-rays and a CT scan revealed the truth: While the damage wasn’t serious enough to warrant surgery – but just barely – it was serious enough to force me to wear a brace for two to three months. If I place more than a feather’s weight on my left leg, I’ll be placing my health in jeopardy.
Speaking of jeopardy, do you have any idea, my friends, what happens to a bellman who cannot work in the summertime? He can’t feed himself. He can’t shower properly. And worst of all, he can’t support his family.
I had a ladder readily available, but since the boards were a mere foot above my head, I felt confident the sawhorse would do the trick.
Clearly, I am a dumbass.
Now everything has changed. Jackie has had enough to deal with over the course of the last few years but my actions have compounded her misery immeasurably. For the Niagara region’s hospitality industry, summer is the most profitable time of the year. But not for me.
Right now, as I’m sitting in bed typing away, my wife, daughter, and father-in-law are hard at work cleaning his house next door, in preparation for an imminent sale – maybe. The truth is, my family’s future is uncertain, I’ve seen to that.
There is so much I want to say, so much I want to convey, but my mind is a maelstrom of regret, anger, failure and a million other emotions. I’ve said enough for now. In spite of my physical inactivity, I won’t be blogging for the foreseeable future.
I need time to heal. I’ll be returning to the orthopedic surgeon on July 9 with my super-hot, live-in, vampire-lovin’ nurse and hopefully, my patented brand of luck will bring good news. If my body heals quickly, I’ll be able to return to work sooner than expected. If not, well, I’ll survive but my leg will never be the same. For that matter, neither will my spirit.
The truth is, I feel like a complete and utter failure. Not only have I let down my family financially, I may have ruined my daughter’s summer. Sarah can’t even enjoy a good night’s sleep without the sound of her old man hobbling his way to the bathroom. The seemingly-simple act of urinating has become a major operation.
I can either crawl across the floor or I can bounce along on crutches, shattering the night’s silence with a series of metallic clicks. Either way, once I reach the toilet, the real fun begins. Pulling one’s shorts down with a brace in the way is not fun at all, kids. Once the deed is finally done, I have to pull myself up, putting further strain on my good leg, and repeat my pathetic shuffle back to bed.
But enough wallowing, my family has returned and so I must take my leave of you, for how long, I cannot say. In the meantime, thank you for your time and friendship.
Be well, and stay off those sawhorses, they’re killers.