today's debate: is it wrong to be strong? you be the judge.

for six weeks now my right hand and wrist have been covered by a sleeve of stiff, odorous, vile itchiness that masquerades as a cast. i shower with food lion bags covering my hand, making the already ridiculous reflection of my naked body all the more absurd... and sad. i cry tears of anger and frustration every morning as i struggle to open my chewable vitamins. friday morning at breakfast, a 70 year old man cut my ham into small, manageable chunks because he felt sorry for me.

robbed of my ability to participate in most physical activities or hobbies that require hands, i've spent the last month and a half repeating the same basic daily routine:

- wake up
- shower
- curse facebook for consuming my life
- work on stuff
- eat some stuff
- go to the high school
- do stuff with or around kids
- eat some stuff
- do more stuff with kids/my wife
- watch 2 hours of 30 rock/heroes/the office/sunny
- pass out
- yell at my wife in my sleep for withholding licorice from the talking marmot in the top hat at the foot of my bed.



i miss my right duke ("sir reginold hollowbottoms", is his boxing name). i miss the high fives. the handshakes. the gang signs. writing. air guitar. being able to apply deodorant to my left armpit.

tomorrow afternoon, this thing comes off. the plaster gets sawed. the filthy gauze gets torn asunder. the pins get yanked from my thumb and wrist. the lotion goes on the skin. the ben wygant takes a victory lap around the office, does his best defiant braveheart freedom scream, then heads to physical therapy to squeeze a stress ball for 45 minutes ("that'll be $400 please").

then, tuesday morning, i'm totally pulling up my pants all by myself. handle it!




i miss my altoona kids:
- "dude, you gotta get back on the horse."
- "no dude, i'm chris reeves-ing it."

confession:
i went to a rotary meeting friday morning. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.

doesn't suck at all:
30 rock. mmm... you look like a baby.