Waking up at zero dark thirty, feeling as battered as French toast, waiting for the Oxy fairy to wave her magic wand and take the edge off of this pain.
Jo Ann is a saint; what more can be said? There’s not another like her.
I remember seeing those brake lights come on and thinking, “yep, I’m fixing to get up close and personal with that there back window”; as it turned out, it was the asphalt monster that snatched me to her heartless bosoms.
Dude named Jackson was my ER nurse, an ex-combat medic who had damaged his own shoulder parachuting into Afghanistan; I can’t say enough good things about this guy. I’m sure that he thinks that what he did was all in a Friday night’s work, but it was much more than that to me; strength and honor, mi hermano.
Hispanic couple that waited with me for Jo Ann to arrive; wish I knew your names… gracias as well.
Charlie Bravo, who I realized was right there beside me as I was taking physical inventory; wrists, ankles, knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, working my way to the spine… all good until I hit the clavicle, which for some reason sounds like it should be a medieval musical instrument of some sort( minstrels! Bring forth the quartet of clavicles!)… I swear, that dog is amazing; her loyalty knows no bounds.
Word of the day: “fustilarian”. Definition: fustilarian (plural fustilarians) (obsolete, nonce word) A low fellow; a stinkard; a scoundrel. Now that I think of it, “stinkard” is also vastly underrated and underused in today’s vocabulary as a synonym for “politician”; why did Shakespeare get to use all of the cool words? And the showoff also got to wear the coolest threads; why did society ever do away with the hose and doublet? I would so totally rock this look.
I think the chemicals are kicking in; it’s about time they quit lollygaggling around and started performing a solid day’s work for a solid day’s pay.
