For starters, in January my wonderful old dog passed on at the age of sixteen -- a dog I had written about and published a children' book about. In February, I ended my 5 yr relationship with my GF, a relationship that provided stability but little passion. Despite her being a great person, she was not the right one to move into the future with.
Still, with my new freedom came definite insecurity, a much bigger rent and overhead on top of newly motivated expectations to ratchet up my career trajectory this spring. Still, I felt strong and liberated; like a new man. Sure I missed my dog, but I was convinced I was ready to take the bull by the horns, life by its tale. I was ready to jump right into the face of destiny and give it a great big kiss right on the lips.
Then a funny little thing happened in march involving a different jump: An accidental jump at a shop I freelance out of. I slipped at the top of steel framed, cement staircase, tumbling down nine steps. My flight came to an end on the stair's landing and my left ankle took the brunt of the force, and simply went, "poof".
I'm telling you, it was like a horror movie, the way it looked. It was broken, and broken ugly:
I spend the next 4 days in the hospital, got TONS of morphine, two plates, 4 pins, and the worst most disgusting diet vanilla pudding I've ever had the misfortune of putting near my face. Sitting there in the hospital, I freaked out because I've still got a 70lb dog back home that needed to be taken care of, bills to pay, papers to file -- a life to live. I'm coordinating friends to walk the dog, I'm dealing with Worker's Compensation issues -- I'm freaking out about being crippled for the next 2 months, and I'm high as a kite -- but ironically still in excruciating pain.
But I'll tell you something, nobody every benefited from being a Crabby Crabberson, or a Moaning Moana -- no matter what the situation.
I allowed myself about 45 minutes of sitting in the middle of my own shitstorm of fear in that hospital bed, my gown on, my foot hanging off the side of the stump of my shin, and then I ended the negativity right there.
It's been 3 weeks since and I'm about to go see the doc for a new cast. My leg feels almost completely pain free (I got off the pain meds 9 days ago), I'm now a goddamn artist with the crutches, my friends have rallied around me like I was shitting bars of candy and gold, and I've got the summer still ahead of me -- and more importantly I'm single. Goddamn right I am.
You know what's a better babe magnet than a cute dog? A cute dog attached to the leash of a guy with a cast on his foot who's got a positive attitude. Now, I'm not on the prowl, but I'll certainly take any attention I can get. A nice hello, a sweet exchange with a cute gal -- makes me feel better than just about anything. It's simple and pure.
More importantly is the fact that even with one good leg, right now I can still be creatively productive with my writing and production work. Nothing can be better for the soul than self expression. I may not be able to move as well as I could a month ago, but I haven't let myself be too hampered mentally.
I figure I've got about 5 more weeks of a cast type lifestyle, then rehab. Even after that time I'll be using a cane and walking around a bit slower, but I will be damned if my upward trajectory toward success is going to tripped up by this little accident. Not this guy. I swear I'm going to have the best 2010 ever!
Who knows, maybe we'll bump into each other in the city one of these days. I hope all is well with you. How is that ankle, still wanna dance? How is your new year treating you so far? Still keeping that positive attitude? I hope so! 
