I’m off first thing in the morning to get a zipper put in my leg — a nice metal plate and a couple of screws, a few more weeks with my leg stuck in the air, three to four months in a cast, several weeks of physical therapy and oh, maybe a box or three of wine to seal the deal.
Once I can manage to hold this trusty old laptop without screaming, MEDIC, MEDIC, we’ll all sit down and have a nice chat about how to not break your leg by tripping over cracks in the sidewalk. We can share scars and swap medical horror stories. We can be Brothers and Sisters of The Leg. We can tremble together as we dim the lamps and tell stories around a crackling campfire about the headless ghost in the mall who captures unsuspecting women and snaps their legs like little dry twigs.
I’ll see you soon.
In the meantime, stay safe. Be well. Keep the oily side down and write, write, write.