I hate, absolutely hate, when a writer starts off by apologizing for what he's about to say. I am a hot-red-blooded, over-indulging, loud, bearded, hairy American with guns that loves the Second Amendment. But in an age of Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and text messages, I feel like an artifact at only 27. I still believe in putting effort towards grammar, and actually reading things before I post them. I also have the attention span that allows for more than 160 characters, but the lack of tolerance for things that bother me in the opening lines. That said, I despise when a writer begins with apologies.
This glorious chunk of blog flooding our beloved Internet is a bit long winded, and it may be ramble thanks to my head and body still being at the whims of a two-week medication regime. This also means my pictures may be the kind of filler we'd expect to find on some Instagram newbie's irresponsibly composed collection of over-edited meals, shoes, and sunsets. It's fine by me, because I also have the simple love and passion for creating memorable moments, so reminders in any form have their value. Someone may have fallen in love over that meal, that stupid pair of shoes may be their lucky ones, and that sunset may have been the cap to the greatest day of their lives. And I absolutely love apps like Instagram for making it easy to edit photos, helping enhance the mood or focus of what they want to portray. In a digital world, it's free to post and write, so there is a limitless amount of material for which I am thankful for. I'm also thankful that this is my stash, these are my moments, my memories, and we all have the freedom to either read on and enjoy, or wander elsewhere on this world wild web.
I recently underwent my second knee surgery this year, putting my estimated recovery time into next spring thanks to a split second moment put me on the ground this past January. Effectively chewing up and spitting out any plans I had for 2012, including my long anticipated, life-changing trip to Moab that I'd been looking forward to so much. Instead, I've spent an incredible amount of time alone with my own thoughts, a pack of animals, and whatever was within arms reach. Thankfully, my lovely bride is well practiced at me being in some sort of recovery. Her schedule and excellent logistic skills kept me fed and both of us from going over the edge. It also helped that I put a ton of effort into keeping a good attitude and stacked up plenty of ways to entertain myself. I've got the greatest group of friends a dude could have, and this has already been an amazing year despite this whole knee saga. So many memories made and great times had, more than I could ever ask for. Thank you all!
I decided early on to stay creative through the process and keep my mind healthy. Luckily, I have a camera and condensed version of Photoshop on my phone. So while my head wasn't clear enough for anything spectacular, I've been able to capture some moments that really meant a lot to me during this latest recovery. There are several to share, so hang in there or bookmark this page for later!
Surgery Morning...
Hopes that this will one day be a distant memory, and the realization that self destruction has been the general theme of my twenties. Strictly captured to document a day of waiting and having fun with anesthesia, surrounded by familiar faces and people that care about me more than I care about myself. Looking forward to remembering my "No Pain, No Fame" series of shirts, and the sweet ass bling crutches my buddy Brantley had made.
Every morning for the next two weeks...
The only ground traveled is that between the bed and couch, and that in itself presents a struggle. Not the easiest thing for a family that prefers to run and gun all day.
That connection and line leading off frame was of utmost importance. It's an ice-pack pump that has made a huge difference in my life. That connection was my lifeline, the only comfort to be had shy of whiskey.
This one may very well be my favorite of all. I could spend time each and every day for the rest of my life explaining to her how much she meant to me every time I've been hurt, and it still wouldn't get my message across. I remember her laughing off this picture like it was nothing, but it became my favorite.
Love my pack. This much time at home is almost like a reset button. Everyone establishes their favorite seats, sets up a good petting schedule, and gets more table scraps. I also find it strange they sense my pain, and the depth of physiological benefits in petting a dog or cat.
Two separate doctors visits, same scene. My crutches are gangster, I need to prop up my leg, and we've been waiting for 45 minutes. Can we get Starbucks or Chik-fil-a after this?
First night out, making up for lost time. I LOVE Saturday nights. Saturday nights are my time to shine as a connoisseur of self destruction and rowdiness. Strange how much less it hurt as I reached double digits in my girl beer. Like a genie of gluttony, my buddies rubbed the lamp and cut me loose in the vortex of a backyard party. All three wishes were for a sweet ass new Vita Brevis Koozy, so I granted them.
And now for my favorite part of recovery...
It's hitting 100+ degree temps here, and I'm not very mobile yet. BUT I can get around the house and look out the windows without even the slightest desire to be outside. That means books will be read, shirts designed, stickers made by the hundreds, RC cars will be driven, guns cleaned, movies watched, xbox games played, and blogs written.
Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all soon!
Sincerely,
-the bald guy with the limp
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