I have lived my life excessively, probably too excessively. I am a complete extrovert, more in keeping with the personality traits of Hemingway, Fitzgerald and my namesake Hunter S. Thompson rather than the reclusive, introspective writers such as Lovecraft and my personal hero, Anne Rice.
I want the experience of living, always have. As a person that has always grabbed the bull by the horns, I now find that I can no longer even get a peep at either the bull or the horns for at least another tow or three months.
Wednesday the doctor discovered that my Achilles hasn't attached properly following my surgery earlier this year. Just when I was beginning to walk and drive, I find out that the entire process has to begin again. Luckily, I drove to Tennessee for a few days last week and enjoyed the sunshine and gorgeous Autumn weather before getting the news. My partner and I even had sushi one afternoon. It was great.
Now, I have to undergo the anguish for a second time. What is my lesson here? Is there even a lesson or is it just a cruel twist of fate? It's not the surgery I dread as much as the pain involved in the aftermath. Pain doesn't produce great art, pain produces the desire that makes you wish you could find anything to help you escape the pain.
Oh well, I won't think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow.
"...if you think you lose your mind." Robert Johnson
Special thanks to the entertainment offered by The Rolling Stones and Jack White in the writing of this blog.
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