You are all probably wondering if I ever came back down to earth after my last post which seemed suspiciously like a drug induced flight of fancy. I assure you that it was not in the slightest way drug induced and my feet never for a moment left terra firma regardless of what pain medications may have been stingily doled out to me during the worst of my recent experiences with practitioners of the finer tortures of the Spanish Inquisition. All ideas presented in my last blog were the result of various epiphanies and none were inspired by medications or magic mushrooms. I wouldn't mind trying a magic mushroom, but I haven't a clue what they look like and it would be just my luck to pick some poisonous variety.....
Happily I can report that my groin and thigh have had their staples removed and the thigh has returned nearly to normal size and color and no longer causes me to scream or even say "ouch" more than 10 or 12 times a day. However, between the mended but still achy left hip, the totally broken down left knee (which never got replaced) and now the still tender and achy right thigh I have had to sadly give up all hope of ever being invited to star in the Ice Capades. Thank heaven I gave up that ambition many years ago when I realized that even though I managed to skate forward without falling down more than 3 or 4 times an hour, I would never be any good at all at skating backwards except on my fanny. I gave away the blue velvet skating skirt with the red satin lining years ago.
Anyway, my main motive in writing this blog is to reassure you that I am returning to what might be considered normal (for Me). Also, after watching 3 football games and going to bed dazed and cross eyed at 9 pm. I found myself unable to fall asleep and not even the act of raiding the cupboard and devouring 4 fig newtons slathered with peanut butter gave me any assurance that, if I went back to bed and tried to sleep, I would do anything but berate myself for ,my low class gobbling, so I decided to dash off a few lines while waiting for the Sandman to show up.
Naturally, I have no exciting news to report since I am still recovering my joie d' vivre (or however the hell that term is spelled) but my spirits are improving and perhaps I will come up with some bizarrre adventure to report one of these days. Looking at my empty calendar I suspect I may have to make something up. We will just have to wait and see, won't we?
The New Yorker covers: February 10, 1975
5 hours ago