I have reached a certain apex of self-pity. I hope. If it’s still going up, I’m gonna have to blow my whole paycheck on new shoes and hot fudge sundaes just to get through the weekend. Just after my surgery, my mom took me up to PA to mother me in my time of need. I was actually kinda upset she was taking me away from my digital cable, MarioKart, cable modem and air conditioned apartment with a bed to go all the way back home for a week, but she’s my mom and I love her, so I let her. She brought me food, played games with me and got me stuff when I asked. There were spans of probably 24 hours when I literally didn’t leave the couch. It was necessary to recover, but boy was I glad to be back to the life of luxury again. That is, until I found myself crawling across the livingroom floor on my stomach with a plate of ravioli and a glass of milk. Even if nobody’s around, it’s a pretty humiliating and humbling experience.
People are asking me if I feel like I’ll be OK to play volleyball next semester. That would be cool, but right now, I’m just looking forward to being able to get a glass of water into my bedroom without it being such a project. To be able to go down a flight of stairs without getting really nervous. To be able to try to finally get out of the occasional parallel park job on a level road. And the surgeon told me I’d be able to start walking on it with my brace on in the next few days. This chick is full of crap! She must have no idea what kind of pain I’m in. I don’t think she knows what she’s doing. She probably tied a bungee cord between my foot and calf muscle. Shit, I don’t know. Stretch! That’s all I got to say.
Well, I was trying to help out Good Joe with his fantasy football team this year, because he’s been busy making cars and money and mud for the past few months. I told him that this guy named David Akers from the Eagles was a good pick because he was the cheapest starting kicker in the league and you don’t want to go wasting your money on a good kicker because they hardly get you any points anyway. His response was something along the lines of “yeah, but do you think the Eagles are ever gonna get the ball past midfield…”
“In fact, can we pick punters.”
Trust me. It’s funny to fantasy football people. A little.
Don’t call me gimpy,
Still Stranded Right Here…