The street where I live?

Imagine if Charles Dickens described a typical working class neighborhood, but in the Midwest. And in 2021. Then, Thomas Kincaid paints the street, but he’s been disillusioned and is in a bad mood.

That’s what a painting of my street would look like.

Continue reading →

So, I had this thing happen. Super unpleasant. I can still feel it.

You guys, we’ve been locked in so long now. It’s just stupid. I don’t mean that staying safe is stupid. Not at all. It’s just so fucking stupid to be in your own stupid fucking bedroom for a stupid number of months. I mean, We’re fine. Seriously. Fine, We’re fine.

Anyway, we’ve made some new “booze” rules and those rules include “During the week, we can have one or two, but not every night” rule.

Tonight, we opted for the “one or two” part and we decided on two.

So, we had three, and then I took the booze to stash in the office.

But the light was off and I didn’t notice the guitar amplifier in the middle of the floor. Even though it has been there for over a year. Maybe two.

My shin hit that amplifier so hard that the one remaining mushy egg in my left ovary winced.

I felt it behind my knee, down to my ankle and up my femur. At least I think it’s my femur. I didn’t fucking go to medical school.

I made up a few curse words. Two of which guarantee me a suite in a sub-basement of hell.

Then, I decided to lay down and watch TV for a bit. Because my shin hurt.

Randy graciously listened to me whine about my shin multiple times and I ran my hand over my shin.

I had a goose egg.

Also, I was impressed with how soft the hair on my legs is. I had a moment where I considered going through the “de-yeti” process. But seriously, what’s the point? No one in my house considers the hair on my legs.

Well, I guess I did, but only for a minute.

I’m a klutz. I have always been a klutz.

I have burned myself more than the average person. I’ve given myself concussions in ridiculous ways. Once, I burned my own armpit because I spilled coffee in it. Trust me, it’s possible. I got melted cheese stuck in my eyelashes once.

My point is, pain is part of who I am. My fellow klutz’s understand this.

So when I say I fucking hurt my fucking shin. Goddamn, it hurt.

And I thought about it. Why was this pain so familiar? Why did it make me feel a little achy about wanting something from my past, like “ago” past?

I remembered when my shins felt this way all the time. All the way back in the seventies, when roller skating was my thing. I was 12.

My fucking shins ached all the time. I didn’t suck at rollers skating, but I’ve already confessed to being klutz.

I had some shining moments, but if you put wheels on my feet? My shins are going to suffer.

It’s been well over an hour now. I still feel the goose egg on my shin.

If I had a choice, sure, I’d rather not be feeling this, but since it did happen? Not unhappy about some of the memories it dredged up.

Like I said, we’ve been locked in for a long time now. A year.

But back in 1976? I had a killer dance to Jungle Boogie that I did on skates.

And I could mostly do it without wiping out. I’d rather remember this and smile, at least for a minute, while my shin is still throbbing instead of crying over what we’ve lost. We all deserve a moment or two, right?

It’s going to be a long goddamn time before anything becomes our new normal. But I think we might at least be heading in the right direction.

I hope you all are staying safe.