February 28th, 2010

one of those days

Up and at 'em (sorta)

I got up early this morning. Figured it'd take some extra time to get ready, and besides, I wanted to pop some painkillers first thing and give them a chance to take effect before attempting the stairs up to the bath.

Crutches are a royal aggravation. I'm hobbling about with a cane some, but I have to remember to take very small steps: no striding about jauntily. But, I'll make it, whichever I have to use in church. Another fun fact: I get to ride the chair lift today to the basement.

Well, it's off to the shower now.

Healing up

All went well this morning. I had to preach sitting down, but it didn't feel unnatural.

By the time the service was over, though, my painkillers were wearing off, so it was time for more. After Sunday school, I walked home and was amazed at how well my leg was doing. I could put full weight on it and everything (as long as I didn't stretch it too far or twist on it or do unexpected things with it).

I'm resting throughout the afternoon now. I imagine the leg'll stiffen up a bit while I lol around with Sassy on the couch, but overall, I'm quite pleased with how things are going.

Still, I can't drive as long as I'm taking high doses of painkillers, and even if I can drive, I don't know yet about driving to Tennessee on Tuesday. One thing at a time: I'll try driving tomorrow afternoon and see how it goes.

I'm also going to try and get in to see my GP tomorrow.

Meanwhile, the Venturers went hiking this afternoon without me. *sniff* Maybe that'll be a good thing -- a point of organizational maturity and all. Still, I'd rather be out hiking than flying this couch.

Oh, well. Another day, another green, blue, and electric yellow dollar, as the Firesign Theater used to say.

The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the blogger

To R. K.
by James K. Stephen

As long I dwell on some stupendous
And tremendous (Heaven defend us!)
Penman's latest piece of graphic.

Will there never come a season
Which shall rid us from the curse
Of a prose which knows no reason
And an unmelodious verse:
When the world shall cease to wonder
At the genius of an Ass,
And a boy's eccentric blunder
Shall not bring success to pass:

When mankind shall be delivered
From the clash of magazines,
And the inkstand shall be shivered
Into countless smithereens:
When there stands a muzzled stripling,
Mute, beside a muzzled bore:
When the Rudyards cease from Kipling
And the Haggards Ride no more.