Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I must say for all my insistence months ago that 2010 will be one of the greatest year ever for me, there's been some interesting developments -- that on paper -- would lend a casual observer to believe that my 2010 is actually on course to becoming the biggest shit-clown-year ever. I was expecting a lot of breaks to go my way. Boy have they ever.
For starters, in January, my wonderful old dog Demo passed on at the age of sixteen -- a dog I had lovingly written about in 2008's Demo: The Story of a Junkyard Dog -- my heart was broken. Then I ended a 5 yr relationship with my GF, a relationship that provided comfort and stability but little passion. Despite her being a great person, she was not the right one to move into the future with. Let's call this one, a broken home.
Regardless of my new freedom came definite insecurity, in the form of a much bigger rent and overhead, on top of demanding self-motivated expectations to ratchet up my career trajectory this spring. Still, I felt strong and liberated; like a new man. Sure I missed my dog, missed my girl, but I was emboldened by a hunger to take the bull by the horns, life by its tail. I was ready to jump right into the face of destiny and give it a great big kiss right on the lips.
Then a funny little thing happened in March. An accidental jump at a shop at which I freelance. I slipped at the top of a steel-framed, cement staircase, tumbling down nine steps. My flight came to an end on the stair's landing and my left ankle took the brunt of the force and simply went, "booyah!".
I'm telling you, it was like a horror movie. It was broken, and broken ugly. I will not show you the pictures because you might just be eating as you read this.
I spend the next 4 days in the hospital, got TONS of morphine, two plates, 8 pins, and the worst, most disgusting diet vanilla pudding I've ever had the misfortune of putting near my face. Sitting there in the hospital, I freaked out. I'm not good at non activity. Besides I had Brinks, my super awesome, super athletic, super sensitive, 70lb dog back home that needed to be taken care of, bills to pay, papers to file -- a life to live. So,feeling higher than Keith Richards on New Years Eve '71, I began coordinating with friends to walk the dog, got on the horn with Worker's Compensation to make sure all was copasetic, freaked out about being crippled for the next 2 months, and -- besides having a blood-dilaudid level of 99.0 -- was still in excruciating pain.
But I'll tell you something, nobody every benefited from being a Crabby Crabberson, or a Moaning Moana -- no matter what the situation. Sometimes you might have to scratch™ and break thru the surface of the fear and loathing to find the real truth in the situation: don't ever stop moving, no matter what broke your momentum.
So, after about 45 minutes of getting soaked in the middle of my own shitstorm of fear in that hospital bed, my gown on, my foot hanging off the side of the stump of my shin, I ended the negativity. Done. Time to clear the sky.
It's been 3 weeks since and just got my first check up with my Doc. My leg feels almost completely pain free (I got off the pain meds 9 days ago), I'm now a goddamn artist with the crutches, my friends have rallied around me like I was shitting bars of candy and gold, and I've got the summer still ahead of me -- and more importantly I'm single. Goddamn right I am.
You know what's a better babe magnet than a cute dog? A cute dog attached to the leash of a guy with a cast on his foot who's got a positive attitude. Now, I'm not on the prowl, but I'll certainly take any attention I can get. I'm not going to deny it. A nice hello, a sweet exchange with a cute gal -- makes me feel better than just about anything, well anything that doesn't come from a poppy plant, anyway.
More importantly is the fact that even with one good leg, right now I can still be creatively productive with my writing and production work. I can't work, but I can deal with things at the home, and nothing can be better for the soul than self expression. I may not be able to move as well as I could a month ago, but I haven't let myself become too hampered mentally. My brain, I'm pretty sure, is still intact.
So, I've got about 5 more weeks of a cast-type lifestyle, then rehab. Even after that time I'll be using a cane and walking around a bit slower, but I will be damned if my upward trajectory toward success is going to tripped up by this little accident. Not this guy, not this lifetime. I swear I'm going to have the best 2010 ever!