I don’t travel much anymore.
Instead, I like use Google Maps to look at famous places a lot.
People link photos to those sites, and I imagine walking through the streets of Berlin… riding a camel past the Pyramids… leaning on the rail of a paddlewheel boat on the Mississippi…
The Grand Canyon’s walls are a smeary blur in Google Maps.
The satellite photos don’t do it justice. And the tourists can’t quite cover all its greatness.
I want to go there and see it for myself.
And for the first time since I broke my neck, I feel self-pity.
Tag: medical
Caller
I called the sports medicine hotline to set up an appointment for my first physical therapy session.
The operator asked me what I needed to work on.
Shoulder
Elbow
Wrist
Fingers
More questions:
Which location?
Referring doctor?
Would October 10th at 2 work for me?
Yes.
It’s going to hurt, she says.
I know. I’m not ready, but I’m ready.
More questions:
My name?
Date of birth?
I tell her.
Oh no, she says. I’m so sorry.
It’s okay. I tell her. I’ll be alright. I’ll get better. Right?
I hang up and sit there… quietly.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
Tonight, I Have A Headache
Holy fuck. I’ve got the worst headache I’ve ever had.
It feels like I’m William Tell’s son, and he’s trying to make applesauce with a machine gun.
I swear, this headache’s going to kill me.
So, let’s fuck. Let’s fuck as hard and nasty as we can.
If this headache really does kill me, at least I’ll die looking into your eyes.
Your beautiful eyes.
Unless you want me to fuck you up the ass. Then, I’ll die looking at your beautiful long golden hair.
And if I don’t, I can just take an aspirin.
This bar’s got aspirin, right?
Bloody Word Games
Most people work out the crossword in pencil, but confident people work it out in ink.
Then there’s the crazy ones who do their crosswords in blood.
I’m not talking about scratching a nib against a mosquito bite.
No, these are the wackos who slash a wrist or a thigh to get their own blood.
Even though this tactic guarantees a free-flowing supply, it puts a rather draconian time limit on your puzzle.
Well, that, and you’ll stain the newspaper… and the table… and the carpet…
Speaking of which, what’s a 10-letter word for binding wounds?
Hurry… I’m blacking out.
Art Deficiency
I was walking down the street on a beautiful day, when I was overcome by a strange feeling.
My balance failed me, and I collapsed.
An ambulance arrived, and the paramedics quickly checked my vital signs.
“When was the last time you were at a museum?” one asked.
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“THIS MAN IS SUFFERING FROM A LACK OF ART!” shouted the other paramedic, and I was loaded into the ambulance.
“The Downtown Contemporary is on drive-by,” said the driver. “But we’ll get you to a local gallery. It’s just two blocks away.”
And the siren wailed on.
Boing
I wasn’t responsible enough for a dog or cat, let alone a pet rock.
“You’d throw it through a window,” said my mother. And then she’d tighten the straps and buckles on my harness.
As I sobbed, I noticed a glimmer on the wall.
A sunbeam reflected off of a buckle.
I named it “Boing.”
He followed me everywhere.
At night, I turned on the lights, and Boing danced on the walls.
Over the phone, the psychologist told my mother to bring me in.
Boing felt threatened, and he leapt into her eyes while she drove us to the hospital.
Drinks
Some folks call it pop.
Other folks call it soda.
And there’s people in the South who call it coke, even if it’s Pepsi or some other brand.
Around here, we call it The Forbidden Elixir, although even saying that will get you hauled before Mayor’s Council for questioning.
Yes. Forbidden.
It wasn’t enough to warn people of the risks of tooth decay and obesity. Not that we miss it much, what, with the fountains of vodka and bourbon at every street corner.
Still, it would be nice to have mixers. Besides orange juice, limes and bitters.
Oh well. Cheers.
Appointment
I have a doctor’s appointment today.
His staff takes x-rays of my elbow and then sticks me in a room to wait for an hour.
When I’m fed up with the wait, he comes through the door, pokes and prods me for a minute, and then I’m sent to the reception desk to pay and set my next appointment.
I took half a day off to do this. But if I had taken a whole day off, I’d have gotten wellness credit reimbursed on my paycheck for half the day.
My elbow is getting better. It’s my patience that’s broken.
Too Big
I’m too fat to use the stairs and you can’t always depend on elevators working, so I always live on the first floor.
“You should lose weight,” people tell me.
No shit. Really?
I can’t exercise because I’m too fat.
And I can’t diet because I’ve got other medical issues. I’ve spent days with the best nutritionists and doctors, but none could figure out how to reduce my intake without killing me.
So, I live down on the first floor.
And I haul myself from the van to my front door.
Soon, I’ll need a wheelchair.
A really big wheelchair.
The Shinbone
I know a man who had his leg amputated because of bone cancer.
The shinbone was a wreck from all the awful chemotherapy, but the other bone… the fibia? Fibula?
Whatever you call it, it was just fine.
So he had it hollowed out and he made it into a flute.
On the Fourth Of July, he’d be at the head of the parade, hopping down the street and playing his bone-flute for the whole town to hear.
The town couldn’t help but stare at the guy.
And they booed. A lot.
Because he was a really lousy flute player.