Inaugural Entry: Lament of the Gimpy Man
It occurs to me all of a sudden that I've had this LiveJournal account for three years (or so) now, and this is the first time that I have ever actually sat down to post something to it. I attribute this to a breakdown in the normal lines of distraction, really. Normally, I'd be posting to ER or DSR or something instead of working, but lately I've felt the need for a diversion from my regular pastimes. Thus, another link is forged in the endless Chain of Procrastination, and nothing at all productive is accomplished. There's something very Daoist about such a state of being. Daoist, or pugnaciously indolent. Who's to say?
In any event, the point is that the account has been sitting here, idle, languishing in the cyber-aether, for quite some time now. And since it appears that it's not going to just go away if I ignore it long enough, I suppose I may as well do something with it.
The question therefore becomes what, if anything, in the undifferentiated march of days that comprise my relatively stimulus-free existence would be worth contributing to the septic morass of self-indulgent, semi-literate prose which daily finds its way into internetland? The answer, simply put, is nothing at all. But will that stop me? Nay, gentle reader (since I'm reasonably sure there's only one of you), it shall not.
There's just under a month left before my next appointment at the New England Medical Center's (or Centre, for those who prefer proper English) Hand Clinic. And the rapture I feel at that fact threatens to quite overwhelm me. It means that I will get to schlep downtown with all the other surly early morning commuters, so I can cool my heels in a waiting room for forty-five minutes or so watching Good Morning, America with the usual motley assortment of linament-scented elderly folks and garrulous foreign nationals of Asiatic extraction. With any luck, that guy in the shackles will be there again with his burly escorts from the Massachusetts State Department of Corrections. Wondering whether or not I'll be witness to an escape attempt/shivving adds a little much-needed spice to my day, I think.
That's if I survive the subway ride into the dark urban heart of Boston, of course, which is already taking quite a lot for granted. Most of the people who ride the subterranean rails in the early morning hours would just as soon trample you underfoot as look at you. It's a curious form of belligerent optimism, I imagine, that leads otherwise normal, productive members of society to forget everything they ever might have learned about social proprieties and basic arithmetic as they attempt to wedge themselves, two or three dozen at a time, into the minimal space remaining in an already dangerously-overcrowded car. It's a bit like the middle-class version of Tetris, only with significantly more swearing.
The combination of body odor and oppressive humidity, moreover, makes the experience rather akin to riding around in somebody's unwashed gym sock.
None of these are major gripes, however. What really worries me is what I will learn after my consultation with the orthopaedic surgeon. For this, I think, will be the visit that settles once and for all the lingering question of whether or not I will require a second surgery to deal with the hetertopic ossification in my left elbow joint. (I thought I might provide a link to one of the many websites that describe this condition online, but upon further reflection I realized that I am far too lazy to do so.) I'm hoping not, since prior to the first operation I had the advantage of having been in extreme pain for a week prior to counterbalance my inherent fear of hospitals and needles and pleasant, matronly anaesthesiologists. That, and I have come to dread the idea of having chunks of bone hacked out of my arm with ye olde surgical chisel. I'm not kidding. They'll use an actual chisel to do it. Truly, the line between medicine and masonry remains a very hazy one.
Alright, I think that will be more than sufficient for the time being. Will this be the start of a new trend? Frankly, I do not know. It may be another three years before I get around to updating this thing again, or it could be sometime next week. We'll just have to play things by ear.
In any event, the point is that the account has been sitting here, idle, languishing in the cyber-aether, for quite some time now. And since it appears that it's not going to just go away if I ignore it long enough, I suppose I may as well do something with it.
The question therefore becomes what, if anything, in the undifferentiated march of days that comprise my relatively stimulus-free existence would be worth contributing to the septic morass of self-indulgent, semi-literate prose which daily finds its way into internetland? The answer, simply put, is nothing at all. But will that stop me? Nay, gentle reader (since I'm reasonably sure there's only one of you), it shall not.
There's just under a month left before my next appointment at the New England Medical Center's (or Centre, for those who prefer proper English) Hand Clinic. And the rapture I feel at that fact threatens to quite overwhelm me. It means that I will get to schlep downtown with all the other surly early morning commuters, so I can cool my heels in a waiting room for forty-five minutes or so watching Good Morning, America with the usual motley assortment of linament-scented elderly folks and garrulous foreign nationals of Asiatic extraction. With any luck, that guy in the shackles will be there again with his burly escorts from the Massachusetts State Department of Corrections. Wondering whether or not I'll be witness to an escape attempt/shivving adds a little much-needed spice to my day, I think.
That's if I survive the subway ride into the dark urban heart of Boston, of course, which is already taking quite a lot for granted. Most of the people who ride the subterranean rails in the early morning hours would just as soon trample you underfoot as look at you. It's a curious form of belligerent optimism, I imagine, that leads otherwise normal, productive members of society to forget everything they ever might have learned about social proprieties and basic arithmetic as they attempt to wedge themselves, two or three dozen at a time, into the minimal space remaining in an already dangerously-overcrowded car. It's a bit like the middle-class version of Tetris, only with significantly more swearing.
The combination of body odor and oppressive humidity, moreover, makes the experience rather akin to riding around in somebody's unwashed gym sock.
None of these are major gripes, however. What really worries me is what I will learn after my consultation with the orthopaedic surgeon. For this, I think, will be the visit that settles once and for all the lingering question of whether or not I will require a second surgery to deal with the hetertopic ossification in my left elbow joint. (I thought I might provide a link to one of the many websites that describe this condition online, but upon further reflection I realized that I am far too lazy to do so.) I'm hoping not, since prior to the first operation I had the advantage of having been in extreme pain for a week prior to counterbalance my inherent fear of hospitals and needles and pleasant, matronly anaesthesiologists. That, and I have come to dread the idea of having chunks of bone hacked out of my arm with ye olde surgical chisel. I'm not kidding. They'll use an actual chisel to do it. Truly, the line between medicine and masonry remains a very hazy one.
Alright, I think that will be more than sufficient for the time being. Will this be the start of a new trend? Frankly, I do not know. It may be another three years before I get around to updating this thing again, or it could be sometime next week. We'll just have to play things by ear.