I'm doing well. I've been healing all too slowly, having an excellent time at work and play with old and new friends and lovers, and life goes on. I just haven't felt like writing much. I'll get over it. This quickie note is to nudge myself to get off the toadstool. I'll be doing due respect to the wonderful folks I've been spending time with in future posts.The ribs aren't hurting all that much moment to moment, however a cough or sneeze - like the cough I had about five minutes ago - interrupts my whole world view. According to Dr. Cody I separated cartilage at the sternum, opposite the rib damage and that's where it stabs me when I sneeze. My knees are stiff and painful near continually. I was just a tad bit foolish at the Wet Spot's Halloween Grind party, when I ended up on my knees for an hour or so, doing wonderful things to a sweet young lady - oh so good, and oh so stupid. The next day was the worst knee day I've had in my entire life. The slow healing is a real nuisance, and brings an unending burning resentment for the criminal who not only violated my property, my home, but who received no karma balancing while I've got moment to moment pain and damage. I've never done 'victim' well, and I have a too well tuned sense of the balance of the universe for this to sit comfortably. Many many thanks to all the well-wishers, both friend and stranger, regular correspondents and unknown lurkers, who have sent me ICQ and email and phone wishes after this damn assault thing. Hearing from people from all over the world really warms me. And a special thanks to two people. Georgette, who never reads journals but heard through the grapevine. She came over to me at the Wet Spot and - front of a large group of friends - said, "Oh, you poor baby, let me give you a hug and a kiss"... and when she leaned in close said, "You stupid motherfucker. What the fuck do you think you're doing trying to tackle a burgler?!" [Her words here are all paraphrased from memory, but the essence was clear]. Secondly, I was at work the other day and my cell rang while I was interviewing a patient. I picked it up and was greeted with a loud female voice shouting, "Is this the 53 year old Mel Gibson wannabe?!?!" It took me a while to realize that my kid sister, who never calls, was calling. My dad had forwarded the edited version of my journal entry I'd sent him back to Sis in Boston, bless her pointy little head.
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