Chicks Dig Scars

The irony is not lost on me. The first 35+ years of my life were idly spent without any sincere form of fitness. While there was a definitely a good degree of happiness involved in many of those years, most of my 30s consisted of a slow spiral of deterioration mixed with a hybrid dose of depression plus personal disappointment.

Flat forward to today. And my mood apparently sours after just five days without some form of fitness. (Aided by the soreness of crutches rubbing against uncushioned ribs, the Good Leg cramping from beating the burden of the Bad Leg, and the constantly uncertainty of when any form of serious activity is even possible again.)

Yes, yes. A large glass of White Whine. Remember the good news:

Still have the foot. Clean bill of health. Road to recovery. This too shall pass.

Got it. Cheering up. As we speak. Much better now. Thanks!

Fortunately, the weekend hasn't been a total loss. Spent a great deal of time catching up on digital projects. Watched several entertaining movies based on Marvel graphic novels. Had plenty of time with the family. The house is the cleanest it has been in many moons. And almost the whole week of meals has been prep'ed. So whilst depression has been looming on the horizon, productivity has been rampant.

For the gluttons out there, a SMALL photo from today's "Airing of the Wound" has been attached. Not my intention to disturb anyone, but several folks have expressed interest. The main concern right now is keeping everything sealed and letting the minor gap in the middle of the excised area to close. Each day has shown an improvement.

The current thinking is: continue to keep everything immaculately clean, continue to avoid any weight-bearing activities by using the crutches, and hope the "boot" arrives soon. In the meanwhile, IronNerd is hopping around (poorly) resisting the urge to complain.

Skin graft? No. Physical therapy? Probably not. Scar? Probably so. But, to borrow from my old friend Evel Knievel: Bones heal, and chicks dig scars.