In what is increasingly a shocking bit of news: I am still here.
Here's a rough video that proves the point [rough on the eyes and the ears, rough-hewn, and myriad other roughness].
As I feel held hostage by CRPS / RSD, I probably ought to have forced my swollen, inflamed, and utterly wretched dough-thingies hanging off of my bruised forearms... WAIT! Hands, they're called hands!
Right! So I should've held a newspaper in my... *hands*, today's headlines and date prominently displayed. For my next trick, I could hold up a card bearing my CRPS Kidnapper Demands -- maybe between the constantly flexing, flexing toes of my left, my left foot.
As a blogger, one of my first goals was to intelligently work My Left Foot into a post. Seamlessly. Et avec panache, du style [d'un style incomparable, même].
Fait accompli. Also: Après nous, le déluge! Much more apt.
Programming detail: At the time of filming, I had banished an exhausted but cutely cross-eyed Fred and the pink-boaed, broad-toed Bianca Castafiore from our regally appointed apartments here in Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé (très décédé, d'ailleurs). Of The Feline Contingent, only Dobby deigned to stick around. And he was already regretting it.
To my dedicated politicos: I had a rare lucid moment at the :50 mark, at which time my eye was drawn to a postcard featuring President Obama, causing me to mutter something about distinguishing my gratitude to him for life, but perhaps not so much for quality of life. {Wink, wink, finger aside the nose}
Here's a rough video that proves the point [rough on the eyes and the ears, rough-hewn, and myriad other roughness].
As I feel held hostage by CRPS / RSD, I probably ought to have forced my swollen, inflamed, and utterly wretched dough-thingies hanging off of my bruised forearms... WAIT! Hands, they're called hands!
Right! So I should've held a newspaper in my... *hands*, today's headlines and date prominently displayed. For my next trick, I could hold up a card bearing my CRPS Kidnapper Demands -- maybe between the constantly flexing, flexing toes of my left, my left foot.
As a blogger, one of my first goals was to intelligently work My Left Foot into a post. Seamlessly. Et avec panache, du style [d'un style incomparable, même].
Fait accompli. Also: Après nous, le déluge! Much more apt.
Programming detail: At the time of filming, I had banished an exhausted but cutely cross-eyed Fred and the pink-boaed, broad-toed Bianca Castafiore from our regally appointed apartments here in Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé (très décédé, d'ailleurs). Of The Feline Contingent, only Dobby deigned to stick around. And he was already regretting it.
To my dedicated politicos: I had a rare lucid moment at the :50 mark, at which time my eye was drawn to a postcard featuring President Obama, causing me to mutter something about distinguishing my gratitude to him for life, but perhaps not so much for quality of life. {Wink, wink, finger aside the nose}
NOTE: If you are newly diagnosed with CRPS/RSD, the state of my body is in no way predictive of what your body will do. Shoot, Dear Soul, you are probably going to be cured soon -- get yourself to an experienced neurologist! The spectrum is broad, is all I'm saying...
It's been a long time since you posted - I hope you are ok (well as ok as you can be).
ReplyDeletedear anonymous,
ReplyDeletethis monday morning is infinitely better than last monday -- let's call that the "new ok"!
thanks for the good wishes.