I write this through percocet haze. Never waste an opportunity is something I always believe in but generally ignore. But right now my brain is slow, and I rarely write slow things.
I remember things from yesterday after the sedative. I remember getting the shot in my groin that introduced the nerve blockers into my bloodstream. The doctor was pressing something against me and I asked, “What’s that?” and then I’m pretty sure I felt a needle in my testicle and said, “Oh.” I winced because it burned a bit. I remember that. I don’t remember going into the operating room but I remember being in there, when they put the green mask over my mouth and said it’s just oxygen for now. That’s all until I came-to with a juice box in my mouth. I asked where my surgeon was and the nurse told me he just left. I said that was rude, because he should have at least said goodbye. She said I talked to him for about five minutes post-surgery. I don’t remember getting wheeled downstairs or loaded into my car. I do remember seeing the steps that lead to my house and cringing.
My house is all steps. It’s shotgun style, six small floors with a small room on each level. I bought it because of its character. I never realized it would serve as an obstacle course following any sort of injury. Bedroom is on top floor, that’s where my electronics and chords will be for the next two weeks. Bathroom is one floor down. I made two successful trips, on my third trip I got so nauseous that I almost fell over. I was doing such a good job of being tough until that moment.
I have no confidence in my legs, which is a weird thing. I do kung-fu, I like to run. I sit on the bottom step and scoot myself upstairs and then worry for ten minutes before I actually try and stand up. I have a brace that’s restricting the movement of my left leg from ankle to thigh. I don’t like being trapped like this. But without the brace I have no control of what happens below the knee. It all just flops.
Boredom hasn’t kicked in yet but it will and I dread it. More-so than the pain. Two days ago I was talking to a girl who had her ACL done three weeks ago and I realized that I was greatly overestimating my recovery time. This is going to be my life for several weeks. Hazes and laptops and the clicking of keys. Movies and video games and a book every couple of days. I started Gone Girl thinking it would be an easier read than Favorite Wife: Escape From Polygamy but nothing’s easy to read, right now. I read the pages over and over. It’s probably best to read Pynchon in this state. It’s been several years since I read Gravity’s Rainbow. Maybe it’ll be even clearer to me.
I wrote a lot. A story about monsters in the closet. I’m really doing this thing, committing to a year or children’s stories. I already have enough to get me through February but at this point I think I’m going to illustrate all of them so the release schedule’ll be all over the road. I really, really hope I can have one ready for August.
I was also thinking about how some of the stories I’m crafting are getting a bit risque, especially since I’m targeting them towards children. My friend asked me what I would say to a group of parents who were outraged at the content if they ever got popular. I told him I wouldn’t say anything to the parents, but I’d find a way to tell their kids not to listen to them.
I kind of want to destroy ideas. I know it’s wishful thinking, but I’m pretty sure we’re heading towards dark days, and ideological resets are paramount. And the people who are most capable of destroying ideas are the people who haven’t gained the “wisdom” required to navigate in this current world.
Oh, hey, this may be getting dark.
Back to my knee, I’m very determined. I don’t want Ro helping me up and down stairs because I want to be as self-sufficient as possible. I’m trying to put weight on the leg. I got this machine that bends my knee in two-hour stints and I upped it by five degrees every hour. On Friday I’m supposed to show that I can bend my knee 90 degrees.
That’s my goal.
90 degrees.
And destruction.
