Happenings

Right now:

Due to some recent broken knee hanky panky in the sack, an ache now throbs in my lower right spine. 

Beckett is asking for a kiss and a hug. Her breath smells like sugary pizza and metallic earwax. 

A pile of medical bills sits on my desk. I don't want to pay them. I'd rather do something else with that money. A trip to Tanzania. A pair of walkable shoes. A stocked refrigerator. 

I cannot comfortably spell refrigerator. 

The refrdsgerator hums. The reffridgeator festers.

One fly swarms around my studio occasionally bumping its multiple eyes into the window. 

I bend my knee to 90 degrees, feel my weakened muscles tense and shake, then slowly straighten my leg again. This action is daunting, but necessary. 

A stack of junk mail on my desk awaits shredding. This I will do tomorrow, with my teeth,  as part of my Process Mundane project. 

My grandma Dot sits alone in her house for the first time in her entire life. She will be 90 in a few days. I want the world to show up at her door to celebrate. 

Book of scars

Over the last six weeks, I've grown more curious about injuries and the scars those injuries leave. And since I have a bit more time than usual to sit and sit, and heal this bang-up knee, I've decided to do a series portraits depicting my own battle wounds. 

Here are the first two: 

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knee scar

The gash on my knee is from the surgery I had nearly 6 weeks ago after falling off my bike on 10th avenue and Flanders in downtown Portland. It was a beautiful Friday and that week, and I'd just started a new job. I was feeling self-assured and happy when my bike tire slid into the tram track and sent me flying off my seat. 

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inner thigh scar

I was 17 and hanging out with my childhood friend, Jill. It was a late summer day and I was wearing a dip-dye t-shirt and a pair of cutoff jean shorts. We got stoned on our 30 minute drive up to Evergreen from Denver and decided to stop and get some ice cream at Baskin Robbins. As we were crossing the street, I was hit by a forest green, American sedan, driven by a boy wearing a Dairy Queen uniform. The bumper smashed into my thigh. I flew into the windshield, then back into the air, then skid across the street several feet. When I woke up it was raining and the Dairy Queen boy was jumping above my head screaming "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" 

Gimpy Thoughts

When you have a bang-up knee... 

strangers will unabashedly approach you and tell you about their own former injuries. They will also give you pitiful looks and say things like "that's a bummer" or "that must suck" or "that looks terrible" and other not-so-consoling remarks that often leave you feeling worse than you may have felt before they chose to comment on your gimpy situation. 

it takes you over a minute to walk down 10 little stairs.

chair fitness videos like this one become sanity staples. 

you furrow your brow and sigh every time your crutches fall over and make that hollow clangy sound.

and you are out for a "walk" in a wheelchair on your own, sidewalks with large gaps become terrifying obstacle courses.

getting a glass of water or cup of tea from the kitchen to the couch involves a series of shuffling, sliding, placing and huffing. 

you want to gnaw off your leg like a trapped animal.