Some folks get such cuts on places that heal quickly like a finger or the tip of the nose. However, yours truly acquires them in the webbing between the thumb and first finger. As a result, every time the hand moves, the cut reopens and blood gushes forth. In other words, I bleed “like a stuck pig.” However, never having been near a pig when it was stuck, skewered or perforated the comparison is meaningless, unless the pig happens to bleed like an oil well gusher.
Folks who are periodically afflicted with the Misplaced Brain Syndrome also will drive past the exit to go home. Oddly enough, they never pass the exit to go to work. I guess that means we are well conditioned gerbils.
On a recent morning, I awoke to the muscle-twisting fun of a cramp in my calf. After writhing in pain for what seemed an eternity, I managed to get out of bed and found that standing eased the agony. Therefore, with my brain conveniently forgotten on the nightstand, I concluded that a short (two-mile run on the treadmill) was what the cramp needed. The run was terrific, but the increasing limp with which I walk is not.
Walking on a flat surface like the office floor is manageable, barely. However, walking up and down the stairs (because I’m too stubborn to use the elevator and because I think I’m slowing working out the kinks) is unsightly and pure agony. Not even a trip to the physical therapist is hurrying up the healing process.
So now, my temporary nickname is “Chester” as in the gimpy guy from the old television western “Gunsmoke.”
Faced with the reality of the Misplaced Brain Syndrome, one can only hope for a better and more sensible New Year.
Elizabeth is an author and freelance writer. Visit her website www.elizabethcowan.com. Check out her new novel, “The Dionysus Connection” on Amazon.