Gut Rumbles

March 06, 2009

Good things happen in pairs

Originally published February 12, 2004

My foot was almost well until last night, when I was cooking instant spagetti for supper. I knocked a whole quart of Prego sauce off the counter and it landed on my left foot. I had a religious experience.

Pain is an interesting experience. I hit the floor, applied an ice pack and did the elevation and compression First Aid. Took two aspirin and laid there in misery for a while. When I conjured the nerve, I peeled back the wrapping to see two broken toes, both turning blue and purple. Just when I thought that I was getting over this shit, I dropped a bottle of spagetti sauce on my foot and started the whole thing over again. I'm going to lose a couple of toenails off of this one. I fucked up that foot. Again.

But I made and ate the spagetti. That foot will just have to fucking wait. Ice today, heat tomorrow. Doctor only if I become really desperate. And I know what a doctor will tell me about two brokens toes. "Here's some codiene. Take it and be happy."

Maybe that's great advice, but it's not what I want. The last drugs they gave me for my foot had me too fucked up to tell shit from shinola. I don't want any more of that crap. I want my foot back in perfect working order.

I sat on my kitchen floor last night and thought that irony is a powerful force in this world. I was almost well, then I turned around and dropped a quart jar of spahetti sauce on my sore foot. That sumbitch hurt bad enough to make me say bad words, if I spoke that way. But I left off a "cockcucker" and "you rotten piece of shit." I kinda ran out of gas after that.

I ain't really full of vitriol today. I can look at the foot and tell that it doesn't like me. Oh yeah, it wants to show me colors and pain equal slamming to your hand in the car door but it's not really serious about going to to the doctor. It wants to go back to Jamaica.

"Fuck you. I put up with two weeks of your shit BEFORE your shit now, and I don't care what she does. Screw that foot. I want some ganga and an eight-ball. I'm going to get fucked-up tonight."

I listened to my foot, which wasn't really a good idea, because that night was Terrible Thursday, where I did it all.

I'm not good at doing that kind of thing anymore (too many years of NOT DOING it for so long.) But when I said that I was going to get fucked up, I did. I also learned that I can't handle that shit anymore. The only thing that really made me feel good on the trip was taking my foot-medicine and washing it down with a couple of Red Stripes. Go figure.

Jenny, I loved the trip, I loved being with you every day and the only detail I would change is you throwing my camera in the water. You still seem very upset with me and really I don't know why. I must be an easy man to dislike.

Perhaps so. but you are not easy for me to dislike. Just give me a break on one thing: I never blogged that we had a flaming romance. We didn't. We enjoyed each other's company. I saw you nekkid. Big fucking deal. You know how I feel about nudity as a taboo.

My posts have gotten all confused lately, and I believe that I may take some time off. I want to work on my book and I'm beginning to realize that I can't do both at the same time.

Hell. I can't hold on to three old friends on line at once.

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