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Watch Your Step
07/08/2002 - 12:31 p.m.
Update - I fixed a buncha typos in here, cuz it was pretty bad. I probably missed a couple.
So, I noticed something on Friday afternoon. If you go back and read the last six or so months of my diary at one sitting, it might be kinda obvious to you*. It probably shoulda been obvious to me, but it wasn't, not until Friday.
What's now obvious is that in the last six months, I've had a fair amount of health problems. And injuries. First, I've had 3 or four bouts with the flu. Or food poisoning. Anyway, something that made me have bad stomach stuff for a day or two. I had a cold. I've had 3 gout attacks, which is a haufen for such a short period. I've had this weird thing where my skin was really sensitive and uncomfortable for a couple weeks. I've had a car accident (Ok, granted, I didn't get hurt in that, but it was pretty scary and my car got hurt).
There's probably some other stuff that's slipped my mind.
Friday afternoon this was all brought into stark relief when I got hurt yet again. Again. Here's the story.
My girlf's roomy has a gas grill. The other night the girlf and I were trying to use it, when it ran outta gas. I figured I'd be a good little do-bee and go fill it. So here's ole Red, a couple days later, getting in the car with the tank, drivey drivey drive, off to the place where they fill the tanks. Fill it up, pay the man, drive home again.
Get outta the car, carrying the tank and a bag with two twenty ounce diet Co-colas for the girlf. And here's ole Red, walky walking along, when he steps on the edge of a pot hole that he hasn't noticed. Watch out, ole Red! But it's too late. Maybe one sixth of my foot is supported by cement, and the rest is held up by our friend the atmosphere. Have a good trip and a nice fall!
Bizzzhhhh Bong!
The propane tank sails through the air and makes a big loud gongy sound as it strikes the roadway. Luckily, it didn't hit anyone else's car, or explode. Or both.
Fwoosh blonk blonk tear blonkitty blonk!
The bag containing the two twenty ounce diet Co-colas rockets through the air and disintegrates on impact, leaving a coupla mighty fizzy diet Co-colas prostrate on the ground.
Hup hoop whoop whoof ow ow ow ow ow!
Ole Red stumbles forward 3 or 4 steps but fails to catch his balance, and ends up succumbing to the laws of Newton, falling to the ground and landing on my left arm, which is tucked in against my side and chest. Bits and pieces of my old stage combat training seem to have filtered up from the swamp of my brain, luckily, cuz I managed to tuck and roll over onto my back and ended up with just a slight scrape on my arm, and of course a bit of pain where my elbow was driven forcefully and painfully into my chest.
Being all manly and such, I get up, dust myself off, go into the girlf's house and hook up the tank. I tell her I fell and not to drink the co-colas for awhile, take a bit of a rest on the couch, and then head home.
There was some pain, but nothing too major. I figured I'd just bruised myself with the point of my elbow and all would be fine in a day or two.
Well, ha ha, ole Red, just you wait a day and see what happens. About 28 hours after the whole mess happened, I'm lying on the couch reading a book (The Cold Six Thousand by James Ellroy, who despite being one of my all-time fave-rave authors has managed to come up with two hguge gigantic wastes of paper in a row), with my two best cats and a glass of lemonade. After lying there for a couple of hours, I realize it's time to go meet the girlf for dinner with her pals, and I get up off the couch. I then fall down, because the stabbing pain in my chest is so great it feels like I'm actually being stabbed.
The cats tear out of the room, and I think, Sheesh, where did that come from?
As I continued to get ready to go, I'd have little twinges, and I'd think, Ahh, it's just a bad bruise, or maybe I strained a lung muscle. They have those, you know. I checked.
So I get in the car. And as the car goes over bump after bump, the pain gets worse and worse, and I finally think, You know, Red ole kid, I am afraid you might have a bit of broken bone pointing at your lung. Either that, or there's an invisible knife sticking out of your chest. Maybe you should go visit Dr X and see if he can assuage your worried mind.
Luckily, it was only about 6 pm, so the emergency room wasn't full of the usual Saturday night gunshot wounds and crack overdoses, so they saw me pretty quickly.
Cuz, you know, we have lots of gunfights and crack usage in New Hampshire.
Anyway, they told me that I had bruised the bones. I didn't know you could do that, but that's what they said. No needle-sharp bone shards advancing stealthily toward my delicate lung flesh, intent on piercing and deflating my precious breath balloons. Just a lotta lotta pain.
I've gotta do something about this slough of ill health I've been in lately.
Maybe I'll just start living in my Redgantor� body full time. Cuz I tell you what, if I'd had my giant robot jet packs on, I coulda just blasted off and flown up into the sky, and laughed mechanically at the poorly maintained roadway and its attempts to injure me.
* Not that I'm recommending or Elvis forbid asking that you read the whole thing. I mean, that would be crazy. Wouldn't it?
Music to fall down go boom by:
Pere Ubu - "Non-Alignment Pact"
"I wanna make a deal with you, girl
And get it signed by the heads of state.
I wanna make a deal with you, girl
Be recognized around the world!"
See what I did there? I went and moved my diaryring to a rings and reviews page!
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Spill it, kitten!!
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♦ Hear some music I wrote (not available in all areas)
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