Down and Downton

The basketball is loose. I turn. I pivot. CRACK. I fall. The kids laugh. I yell. They stop laughing. Just like that. My foot ligaments. Torn. My stubbornness won’t allow me to see it. I finish up my shift. I walk on it and drive with it as if nothing had happened. But once the shoe came off, I knew it had. Long days in bed with my foot propped up and iced. It’s stiff as a board, but I wiggle my toes as a way of routine to make sure there isn’t an axe (or perhaps a saw) in my future. How do I occupy my time? Not writing of course, although that’s what I should be doing. After all, it is my dream. To be a writer, and perhaps to be famous, but that’s just about the greatest contradiction I’ve ever heard. In fact this whole situation may be the best writing material I’ve ever come across, or perhaps the worst. It’s a very thin line after all. But nonetheless, back in the seventh or eighth grade, although I can’t remember exactly as I refer to those years as the Dark Ages, the same thing occurred. I was playing basketball with a group of childhood friends. I turned. I pivoted. And CRACK. I fell. Same foot, but worse consequences perhaps. I had a cast then, not now, although if this doesn’t heal quickly enough one could be in my future. Oh yeah, that reminds me, how am I actually spending my time as a one-legged man? So far, it’s been spent watching Downton Abbey. You see, I watch virtually every critically-acclaimed show around. I know, quite pretentious, but considering you’ve made it this far I guess that doesn’t do much to deter you. Anyway, it’s the kind of show that revels in torturing your favorite characters. I yell at my computer, “That’s Mr. Bates damn it!” but it does no use. It’s actually quite funny, cause I feel like a Julian Fellowes character right about now. I’m a cripple. My dreams have gone by the wayside (for a few days but it still counts damn it). Perhaps most of all, I feel trapped in a circumstance which I really have no choice in. And it’s realizations like that that force me into action. “Hey Dad, fill up my water bottle! More ice! More Cheez-its!” Yeah, I live with my dad. Probably the nicest guy to ever exist. He has to put up with me after all. But hey, I’m not complaining. This is my life. Whether I chose it, or it was chosen for me. So I stand up. CRACK. Fuck my life.


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