A Dude's Guide. . . to everything

Resolute

by Richard

The new year can kiss my fat, hairy. . . Erm. That is to say, I’ve never understood the need for artificial demarcations in temporal units as a necessitative condition for behavioral deviations.

Ah, what I mean to say is: I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. Personally, I think they’re a bunch of junk. Why wait until December 31 to start reflecting back on your life, summing up what went wrong that year and resolving to do better in the coming year.

The way I see it, if you’ve got some issues and you know you need to work on them, now (or, rather, whatever day it is, not necessarily today, if you know what I mean) is as good a time as any.

It’s like with any good diet plan. Just because you fell of the feed wagon for the day, that’s no reason to dump the entire plan. You can just start over tomorrow. It’s the same way with resolutions.

If you think you need to start working out more, why wait for Jan. 1 to begin? Why not today? Or tomorrow? It’s especially rough with the whole working out thing. I’m a regular member and user of the local YMCA. When I don’t have an arm strapped to the side of my body, I’m normally there a couple of times a week working out. And I hate the first of every year. That’s when people who haven’t seen the inside of a gym for half a year or more come back and pretend that this year will be different.

That place is packed. Full of people who are trying to live up to artificial expectations for change imposed by the ringing in of the new year. Seriously, if those dudes and dudettes would just start going when they know they need to, rather than at the start of every year, my workout life would be a lot easier. And, really, isn’t making my life a lot easier what your lives should be all about? Well, I thought yes was a reasonable answer to that question.

Moving on.

Resolutions are a good idea, I’m thinking. But I’m also thinking they’d be a lot more effective if you made a certain resolution and then immediately began to implement that resolve. It’s like punishing a dog for pooping on the rug. You don’t yell at the dog three hours after he poops, you’ve got to intervene right after so the dog associates the punishment with the crime.

Just ask anyone. I’ve got LOTS of issues. The thing is, though, I’m trying to work on them as they crop up. It makes for a busy year, let me tell you. Still, I prefer working on things one issue at a time to trying to do them all at once.

It makes failing at just one thing that much easier to take.

With that in mind, have a safe night tonight and come back next year.

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In The Land Of The Armless, The One-Armed Man Is King

by Richard

To quote Mel Brooks, “It’s good to be the king.” Or at least it would be if I really were in the land of the armless. Unfortunately, I’m in the normal land here where most everybody has two arms, two hands and can actually get stuff done.

Yep, you guessed right. It’s time for a whine-fest.

It’s been almost two weeks since I had my shoulder operated on and I’m already getting very, very, very tired of walking around with one arm in a sling, strapped to my body. My right arm is basically useless. I’ve been told I can’t even hold things with my right hand because I don’t want to strain the newly repaired muscles and tendons in my shoulder.

I never realized how much I actually do during the day until I couldn’t do any of those things.

I have to get help from my young dudes to tie my shoes. Zipping up is a monumental task. Putting on deodorant requires a few acts of contortions that would strain the credulity of India rubber men at the freak show. I can’t even wash dishes.

See, the thing is I know I have ADD. I can’t sit and do just one thing. If I’m watching TV, I’ll also need to read a book at the same time because I can’t just watch. During most evenings, I will be doing stuff in the kitchen while also keeping an eye on the TV or something similar. Now I can’t.

TV, by itself, is just so boring.

Sitting at the keyboard to write is a chore now. I have to type so very slowly. By the time my fingers have hunted-and-pecked their way to being even with my brain, my brain has moved on and forgotten what I was writing about in the. . .

Still, I can’t get too annoyed. I know I will get the use of my right arm back. Eventually. I’m a lot luckier than a lot of people who are learning to adjust to life with only one arm.

Still. . .

Still. . .

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Doctor’s Orders

by Richard

So, yesterday, I had my first return visit to see the man who viciously attacked me with a wicked sharp knife, wounding me severely in the shoulder, necessitating my current one-handed lifestyle.

Yeah, I went back to see the doctor for a follow-up visit after he did reconstructive shoulder surgery on me before Christmas. On Dec. 17, I went in for a little surgery to try and clear up some pain issues I’d been having in my shoulder. I’d had pain in my shoulder for a couple or decades (yeah, really. I know. I’m something of a procrastinator when it comes to taking care of my own health.), but it had really become difficult to bear with over the last year or so.

Eventually I gave in. I went into the surgery expecting him to do a little cleaning and suchlike and that I’d come out of it feeling pretty good. Turns out I was a bit overly optimistic. Whatever could have gone wrong in that shoulder, basically, did go wrong in the shoulder. The doctor had to go in there and remove the distal (outside) end of my clavicle bone to remove bone spurs that were growing sharp pointy bits into the fleshy part of the shoulder, staple down the biceps tendon which had come loose and then completely repair the rotator cuff muscles. It was a mess.

I begged and pleaded with the doctor before the surgery that, if it was worse than he thought before going in (it was) that he make sure to give me some wicked scars so I could have something to brag about. *Sigh* The dude was just too good. He was able to do all the repairs he needed to do by going in arthroscopically. That is, he poked four holes in my shoulder, shoved some cameras and instruments in there and then went to work. The upshot of which is no hideous scars about which I can make up a lot of stories.

No zombie ninja pirate attacks. No blaster marks from fighting off aliens. Just four tiny holes. The best story I can come up with so far is that I was attacked by a shark badly in need of dental care. Not nearly as much fun as I’d been planning to have.

To top it off, the doctor spent our entire appointment telling me I had to take it easier. I — apparently — am doing too much and need to rest the shoulder more if I don’t want a return engagement with the knife. First time anyone’s ever told me to take it easier.

I think I might like this guy. I’ve got a doctor’s order to laze around and force people to do my work for me.

I think I might get to like that.

Now if only I could get someone to do my typing for me I’d be just about in heaven.

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