The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

16 October 2006

Some seriously dubious joints

Not the kind you go to for a spot of ale, either. Tam explains:

[I]t's only 40 degrees outside by the thermometer, and as I wander upstairs for another Sierra (I'd have a Snake Dog, but Kroger closed tonight at 10PM; I guess when they say "Open 24 Hours", they don't mean " a row,") my right shin, held together with a steel rod, screws, and (for all I know) duct tape, twinges painfully in the cold. As I reach for the doorknob, my right thumb, broken once in a sportbike wreck and battered by decades of recoil, stiffens and then lets go with an audible *pop!* My left ankle, buttressed by screws of its own, grinds in sympathy. If I'd known I was going to live this long....

Now I know why folks complain about the changing of the seasons, and why our primitive ancestors would give a person's age, not in years, but as "She's survived X winters." Anybody can survive a summer.

The rain started here Saturday night, and might let up by tomorrow; I have the general feeling that I'm going to dissolve right onto the sidewalk and they're going to have to bring a 55-gallon drum of Dawn for Dishes to scrape me away. I certainly won't be able to walk my way out of it — not with these knees.

Posted at 11:28 AM to Dyssynergy

I feel it along with you, and Tam. Going from summer to winter is the worst time, the rest of the year is allright but winter time is aggravating. Oh well, life goes on.

Posted by: anomdragon at 7:01 AM on 17 October 2006