“But honey, I’m not done drinking yet.”

Posted: August 23, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Now that I’ve got  your attention, yes, those were my very words about twenty minutes ago.  Of course, just to be clear, that time is only accurate in reference to when I started writing this.  I am, after all, typing with a buzz and a cast– and due to the former condition, am mocking some schmuck (that I don’t even know) on a friend’s facebook page.  If my ass gets any bigger, or if I end up with acne and my girlfriend leaves me, my transformation into a walking stereotype of failed manhood will be complete.  Oh, all these horrible realizations that have come from surgery– or rather the inordinate amount of time I’ve had to just… think.

So here I sit, nursing a budding headache, and watching Robot Chicken and …  ugh, you know what?  Screw this, Svedka Cherry makes headaches worse.  There’s your FYI for the night, I’ll finish this later.  I need some sleep.

One crappy night’s sleep and half a day later…

I am officially a dumbass.  Rule #1 of headaches, especially of the burgeoning migraine variety:  do not freaking drink more.  They will only get worse, and you will end up with the same headache and a hangover the next morning.  Feel free to point and laugh, because I have been facepalming all morning.

After all the years I’ve spent as a fore-running proponent of the epic lushes against irresponsible alcoholics, you’d think I’d have learned one of the cardinal self-preservation rules.  Apparently I have not.  I should have let my girlfriend put the Svedka away, it would have saved me a case of the FML’s this morning.  Either that or I should have pulled a House, downed two Norco, and not given a flying damn– except I’m saving my remaining Norco for when I start physical therapy in a week and a half.

Yes, I’ve had this cast for over a month now, and finally there’s a light at the end of my gimpified tunnel.  Then again, that’s just the full-arm cast.  I have no idea what the future holds, so I’m being uncharacteristically optimistic.  For all I know, they’re gonna put me in another, smaller cast.

This brings me to something that has been an intriguing footnote to this entire odyssey.  This is the first cast I’ve ever had.  Most people get exotic colors, or have people make like tattoo artists all over their exoskeletons.  My cast is as virgin and vanilla as the day I got it.

The cast, just as "perfect" as the day it was applied...

The cast, just as "perfect" as the day it was applied...

Isn’t this what kids look forward to?  Don’t they look forward to having their friends sign, draw-on, and otherwise deface that which is both healing and handicapping them?  Well, apparently that’s not so vogue when you’re in your early 30’s…  either that, or I’ve progressed farther into becoming a reclusive, obese, basement denizen than I thought.

Everyone, grab your sharpies.  Realize that my two nieces and nephew will probably see what you’ve drawn.  My self-respect is on the line here.  Time to do work.  I will not let my first (and hopefully last) cast ever go into that good night without even a single mark.



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