To be honest, friends, I have a new writing project that deserves my attention but my creativity is as fractured as my mind and body are at the moment.
So here’s hoping blogging is as therapeutic as the non-licensed therapists claim it is…
Things I’ve Been Taking For Granted
The Incident, as it’s come to be referred to in my house, has opened my eyes to all the little things in my life that I’ve never considered valuable/important – until I could no longer accomplish them easily.
Getting in and out of a car: The front seat of an automobile was designed for someone who can bend both of their legs. I’m spending the summer in a leg brace. I’ve been spending more time in the back of a van than a wannabe actress during her first summer in Los Angeles. And I’m pretty sure the actress is having more fun.
Climbing stairs: Actually, that term is misleading. Most of you walk up and down stairs. I’ve been climbing them – on my ass. Staircases with sturdy railings that can easily support my 225-plus pounds of girth aren’t too bad but I look like a human pogo stick while navigating them.
Being able to change seats: In the last several weeks my world has shrunk faster than Bruce Jenner’s manhood. Now that my mobility has been severely limited my days are spent in one of three places:
- Bed. I’ve done many thing in my bed: Devoured snacks while enjoying my favorite mind-numbing shows, contemplated a plan of attack for the day ahead, apologized – Lord, have I apologized – but I’ve never been a prisoner. Until now, that is. (Actually, I have been a prisoner before, but “Sexy Librarian Disciplines The College Student With Overdue Books” doesn’t count, right?)
- The living room couch: Daytime television is a vast wasteland populated by bar rescues, repo games, retro game shows, something called The Chew (I was praying a jet engine would fall through my roof after the first five minutes), and other programs too banal to mention. And summertime prime time is no picnic either. Thank God – and Stephen King – for Under The Dome. But the couch is comfy – though not after ten hours – so there I sit, day after day, after day…
- My front porch: Someone put me some kids in my yard so I can shake my fist at ’em, please. Seriously, my father-in-law and I have spent hours on my porch this summer. We’ll engage in stimulating conversations that involve the following phrases:
“Looks like rain today. They said it was going to be sunny, but they appear to be wrong.”
“Whatever happened to (insert name of an old family friend here)?”
“The damn government!”
“Looks like the foul-mouthed, randy divorcée across the street snagged another one. Poor bastard.”
Yep, welcome to my world. By the way, these days the answer to whatever happened to most of our old family friends is the same: they died.
Bow chicka wow wow: Want an extended break from the ole “in and out”, fellas? Break a fuckin’ leg and you’ll be in sexual limbo before you know it.
Going to the bathroom: This is the Big One, kids. When all is said and done and my leg heals fully (hopefully), I’ll never forget my summertime trips to the bathroom while in a leg brace. Urinating can be a chore on a good day – if you’re drunk, tired or sick – but when you can only bend one leg? Well, then it becomes an energy-sapping exercise worthy of a Navy SEAL.
During the day I can use my crutches, although they’re pretty much useless when it comes to actually sitting on the throne and doing your business. In the middle of the night, however, all bets are off.
Our 2nd floor bathroom is right across from my daughter’s room and it’s about 3, 000 miles – give or take – from my room, so in the interest of maintaining the evening stillness… I crawl on my butt… every… single… night. Half of my knuckles resemble uncooked pork chops, my home’s floors have been polished to a nice sheen but only in a very specific path, and my dignity is deader than Lindsay Lohan’s career.
And sine we’re down the Rabbit Hole anyway… Have you ever tried to wipe your behind while perched on one leg? My hands are far too large to fit in-between my legs which I’m unable to spread far apart, so I have to hover – again, on one leg – while cleaning myself.
Bathing sucks too. At least we have a bath chair. I refuse to imagine a scenario where I’d have to rely on someone else to clean me that doesn’t involve me as a 103-year-old man.
No matter how strange your life is at the moment, I’m guessing I have you beat.
Feeding myself – at the kitchen table: The healing process dictates I keep my leg elevated, so I eat my meals – which I cannot risk preparing on one leg – on the couch. Having a sexy butler/nurse sounds great on paper but I die every time I see the exhaustion in my wife’s eyes. And so there I sit, day after day, munching away in front of the tube.
And speaking of my wife, and for that matter, the rest of my clan and my friends, both in-person and virtual…
Thank you, everyone who has reached out to me these last few weeks. Your support, love, jokes, good wishes and other acts of kindness have touched me. And after a few weeks of celibacy, I really appreciate being touched…
See you around, folks…