My shadow, the Pin. I am fascinated with the Pin. Mostly, I am repulsed by the Pin but there is something bizarrely unique about having a pin stick out of my toe. Mostly I can't look at it. It gives me the willies (now, there is grown-up word). But it's there so I have to acknowledge it and work through this drama.
Sometimes I talk to the Pin, giving direction, cajoling-like thoughts - come on Pin, move over the right, you are hitting a nerve. Surprisingly, perhaps even shocking, sometimes I swear at the Pin. You know some of those words. George Carlin kind of words. That usually occurs when I have hit the Pin on something. I am pretty sure that you might use some of those words too, maybe not out loud but deep in the recesses of your brain if you had a Pin in your foot and you hit it on something. It is a pain that until now, I had not known. And believe me when I tell you that I will do every possible thing to not hit that Pin. Again. On anything. Ever. And not frequently enough, I am at peace with the Pin. It's just us, sharing the body for a couple of weeks. The two of us, hanging out, doing the best we can. The Pin is trying to stay on the straight and narrow (oh I kill myself) keeping my toe straight so it can heal. I am just trying to walk with the Pin and not hit it on anything. That's my goal for the next four weeks.
Do you know that I get to KEEP the Pin when it comes out? That's weird on so many levels, but since I am weird anyway, I think that I am going to have it framed. But that's a whole nother blog. :)
And about the pictures ... I have received a LOT of feedback on the pictures. Yeah that sucker hurts. And no, I don't have a tattoo on my foot. When the doctor did the surgery, both he and I have to 'sign' the foot with the surgery. I marked the toe and he initialed the foot. Someday, maybe even this year, the magic marker will wear off. Maybe. Or perhaps I have an unintentional tattoo. :)
Tonight it's Chicken on the barbie. Paul is making us ribs in the smoker for the 4th. God bless him. Man can he cook.
Sometimes I talk to the Pin, giving direction, cajoling-like thoughts - come on Pin, move over the right, you are hitting a nerve. Surprisingly, perhaps even shocking, sometimes I swear at the Pin. You know some of those words. George Carlin kind of words. That usually occurs when I have hit the Pin on something. I am pretty sure that you might use some of those words too, maybe not out loud but deep in the recesses of your brain if you had a Pin in your foot and you hit it on something. It is a pain that until now, I had not known. And believe me when I tell you that I will do every possible thing to not hit that Pin. Again. On anything. Ever. And not frequently enough, I am at peace with the Pin. It's just us, sharing the body for a couple of weeks. The two of us, hanging out, doing the best we can. The Pin is trying to stay on the straight and narrow (oh I kill myself) keeping my toe straight so it can heal. I am just trying to walk with the Pin and not hit it on anything. That's my goal for the next four weeks.
Do you know that I get to KEEP the Pin when it comes out? That's weird on so many levels, but since I am weird anyway, I think that I am going to have it framed. But that's a whole nother blog. :)
And about the pictures ... I have received a LOT of feedback on the pictures. Yeah that sucker hurts. And no, I don't have a tattoo on my foot. When the doctor did the surgery, both he and I have to 'sign' the foot with the surgery. I marked the toe and he initialed the foot. Someday, maybe even this year, the magic marker will wear off. Maybe. Or perhaps I have an unintentional tattoo. :)
Tonight it's Chicken on the barbie. Paul is making us ribs in the smoker for the 4th. God bless him. Man can he cook.
2 comments:
Talking to the pin? No big deal. It's when you believe the pin is talking back....
Happy 4th of July. How were the smoked ribs?
L.
Oh, I had a LONG chuckle on this one. Lisa, if that Pin starts talking back, I PERSONALLY will pull it out. :D
And the ribs, well, were nothing short of magnificent. Food coma as I speak, er type.
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