"Why Don't You Tell Me The Story of Your Life?"

So, I've got it all figured out.

My knee hurts. The left one. The one that's supposed to be healed. I can stand up on it now, and I do as much as possible, though, as I mentioned, it does hurt. I've been out of the wheelchair for almost a week now (which is a whole other story) and I've decided that peeing standing up is pretty much the most fantastic thing in the world, but you probably already know that, unless you're a woman, in which case you don't, but it is.

So there's that.

Being crippled is weird. People stare and you can't get to a lot of places where you could before, particularly if you live in Southern California and are unable to drive. I'm glad I only had to do it for 10 weeks. The wheelchair that is. Crutches for 5 more, but people tend to stare less, and I've got the sympathy thing with women now without the whole creepy, "I wonder if it still works", thing, so that's good. Not that I'm exactly in the mood for pickups right now with the achy, withered legs, post bad trip (it was only pot officer, honest) freak-out trauma and the pretty major head cold I've got going on. Doesn't help that Mimi picked last Monday morning to call me repeatedly and pound on my door. I let her in. She had, what I thought at the time was a good excuse to be acting Koo Koo and, let's face it, I'm a chump. Upon reflection, her good excuse was exactly that, an excuse. It was just more drama when the best thing would have been to leave bad enough alone. What did it accomplish? She got to have me ease her mind on what was bothering her, which shouldn't be my responsibility anymore, and I got to feel like shit for the rest of the week.

It was supposed to be my big week and all too, what with the whole standing up again thing.