Introduction to New Leg Posts

I have another batch of posts about my leg that will be appearing soon. There will be, to warn any squeamish readers, some photos that are more gruesome than before.

These are also woven with angrier thread, a thread that also starts to fray with the frustration that sets in when a person is in this situation: cooped up, grimy, and able to do only the very simplest of tasks.

At one point the big news was that I had done the dishes. I was so proud of myself. I did the fucking dishes. That was it. It underscores the fact that I don't cook, or clean, or do much of any damn thing. I sit, use the restroom, get fruit for myself, and whatever snack I can carry while I hobble on the crutches.

But those dishes...my left foot was purple, I was sweating like a fat man eating a burger, and I occasionally had to stop my permanent lean on the counter to hold myself up in the air--lifting both feet off the ground and  taking a little weight off my now-chiseled ass cheek. The whole ordeal didn't take very long, but I felt like napping afterward. That's where I was.

Now, I venture out of the house from time to time on my own. My stamina is great, but my hands are what really prevent me fro getting too far. I have exercises too, and can feel progress happening, albeit on a small scale, but after five weeks, things are moving forward. My arms are the strongest they've been since I laid tile all summer that year, and I've lost whatever weight I'd put on in Sacramento for my brother's wedding, and then some. Those slacks should fit now just fine. (That wasn't something I worried about, but it's something I've noticed.)

The bill's another story.