I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Well, not punching the air, but am relieved. I won't be getting an operation.

The doctor looked at my foot and said, "Oh geez...it is swollen and bruised, isn't it?" Duh. Do'ya think, doc? And then he proceeded to clamp his thumb down on THE most tender spot on my foot--and, as I let out a startled yelp, said, "It hurts bad right there? That's good." I'm serious! That's exactly what he said. Fabulous. Lovin' this guy.

But...no surgery--that's only because what's wrong with my foot--and, apparently, that's quite a lot--is not operable--in other words, I'm screwed.

Well, after much painful poking and prodding, more X-rays and etc... it's been decided that I have:

A. The worst possible sprain one can have (already knew that)

B. A slight tear of the ligament--too small to fix.

C. A hairline fracture of the footbone--again, too small to do anything about.

D. A "very badly" bruised bone--which the doc says is probably what is causing all the massive bruising throughout my foot.

It will--if I stay off my foot as much as possible and continually keep it elevated whenever it swells--I may be back on my feet by early to mid-June. Well, that's not too bad, I guess. Beats having to go the whole summer on crutches.

MONTAGE: TRAVELING NORTHEASTERN NEW YORK'S BACKROADS

I must say, I surely do miss just jumping in my car and going for a ride somewhere. There's something about traveling an open, winding country road, good tunes playing, fantastic scenery...the freedom, the joy...you can just relax and unwind and enjoy the day.

I've had a lot of cars and trucks over the years--only one new, and that was a clunker as it turned out. I think of them all--though my old Dodge 3-speed (leave it to me to learn to drive standard with an on the steering column 3-speed) slant 6 pickup, had a fantastic engine--it was literally falling apart--as in you could see the pavement through the floorboards. My favourite was my old 5-speed Ford Ranger. I've had the big old Dodge, and an old Chevy Suburban, an automatic Chevy S-10 pick up, and my first pick up, the automatic GMC S-15--comfy to drive and a fantastic heater that literally saved me from hypothermia once-- but the engine was total crap. I really loved my old 87 Ranger. I bought it for cash in 2002. The engine quit in the summer of 2003--but while I had it, it was great! Drove like a dream and was fantastic on gas. It I'd had the cash to replace the engine, I would have kept it--oh, it looked like rubbish (similar truck above) on the outside, but it was a really great truck, and to this day, I still miss it dearly. I used to dream of fixing it up and even re-painting it, maybe something funky, like teal or even purple. 'Course, that was just a passing fancy. After the engine basically blew up on me, I was talked into putting a down payment on a new Neon--worst move I ever made! Hated that thing! But...that's another story.

But yeah, love driving in the country--especially on a new or particularly scenic road. It's always nice to share the ride with someone--but even alone, it's really lovely. A real joy, for me. Like I've said, I'm a simple person. I treasure simple pleasures highly.

Oh, and by the way, it's snowing a bit again, outside my window. No spring for us then, any time soon, I guess.

I suppose, in a way, when I set foot into the woods, so many years ago, I was escaping...from my everyday life, from truths I did not want to face or could not comprehend, from pain or fear or other negative emotions. But, often enough, I would find myself changing my feelings, once I step foot into forest and field.

Things would take on a whole other perspective--and things that seemed such a burden to my soul in my ordinary life, in the woods, seemed trivial to me. A concrete problem or issue, weighing down my heart and mind, soon became as light as the air, like sunlight parting the shadows of the forest...what once seemed an insurmountable burden became merely a new problem to be tackled and put in its proper prospective.

I was often then--as now--very lonely, very much alone (tho' not nearly as alone, physically, as I am now, of course)---but when out in my woods and fields, I was never alone. Oh, I always had this deep-seated longing to share my experiences with others, but I was never truly alone, out there. I had the entire universe as my companion. Each day or night was a shining jewel, a rose without thorns, to be enjoyed and cherished while it lasted...and remember long into the dark days to come.

Well, I guess, unknowingly, on a Dr Who forum--in a sort of free-for-all section for topics mostly unrelated to Who, there was one thoughtful young man from Scotland, who is a staunch supporter for independence--not only for Scotland, but for Ireland and Wales, as well.

He asked for opinions, after thinking about it for a day or two, I threw my hat into the opinion ring--and got shouted down for my efforts! I mean, people thought I was being insulting--or demanded to know who's side I was on! (Nobody's--I don't live in the UK) I was just giving my honest thoughts, opinions and observations--was I being insulting? I didn't feel so. Was this aimed at a particular party or parties? No. But, man, did I take some flak! No more political commentary for me--from now on, when I go on the DW website--I'm sticking to pure "fluff" subjects...screw this serious stuff. Not worth losing friends over or getting into it with overly sensitive people, over what I thought were just a few straightforward remarks.

Here's what I wrote:

Very complicated issue. It's really not as simple as just mere independence--which is important, of course--it's more serious issues of health care, money, taxes, military and police, voting, etc. You can't rightly and intelligently speak of independence, without taking first into consideration the CONSEQUENCES of that state--how will you support the people? Just declaring it, won't solve anything, if the state/country doesn't first lay a solid groundwork of legislation, social support and internal infrastructure plans in place, as well.

That should be very telling, to anyone who wants an independent state.

It really, seriously troubles me, that people found my remarks insulting. Maybe I am being a jerk? Now I have more things to hate about myself--I don't want to give opinions if I'm going to sound like a moron or like I'm being petty and insulting--gah! Screw this! I miss the days when I was a "wallflower" and kept my mouth shut most of the time...things were so much easier, then. Sometimes I'm sorry I ever went to college.

Well, I was searching for something amusing, to while the rest of the night away--and since I seem to be thinking of, and talking about, Shakespeare lately--thought I'd share this little short with you.

It's Hamlet--sort of-- for cats! Cool! (With apologies to Mr. Shakespeare, who must be rolling over in his grave). If you can get past the "distractions," (you'll see what I mean) the dialog is quite funny--in it's delivery, I mean.

On a more sober note, when I first studied Hamlet, in World Lit, back in the summer of 2004, I became well familiar with that famous scene from act one: "To be or not to be..."
But until that terrible year of 2006, I truly did not appreciate the serious meaning behind those words. But as summer fell away into winter, more and more I asked myself-albeit worded not so intelligently or beautifully--that very same question...and, sorry to say, to a smaller extent, sometimes still do...

I have been trying to finish a couple of unfinished Who stories--without much success, today--maybe later...for some reason, seem to do my best (well, most inspired) writing in the pocket-sized hours of the morning.

Well, since I've nothing new to add, thought that once a week, just for the heck of it, I'd publish a chapter from a previously written--and mostly completed--fan fiction story.

So here's chapter one of a short story I wrote in, I think, end of August of last year? It's a 10th Doctor story---sans Martha. At the time, I didn't know a thing about Martha, so I sort of (forgive me Freema) wrote her out of it. It's not great writing, but I sort of had fun with it. I do wish I'd enrolled in a fiction course while at college tho', as it's very mildly frustrating, knowing nothing about fiction writing--and trying to write it, anyway.

So, without further ado, here's chapter one of a story I titled, "The Menagerie."

One: Shopping Spree

Just then, he spied a little shop around the corner that looked interesting. The store windows were small round panes of glass, and each pane held a different trinket. The gifts ranged from a comic statue of a fat man on a toilet, to spun glass swan-like creatures, to miniature dragons that moved their wings and roared, to souvenir beverage beakers. What caught the Doctor’s eye though, was an elaborately enameled box. It could almost have come out of Earth’s Tsarist Russia, but for the holographic ballerina on the lid. Opening the door, he entered the shop. The man who’d been shadowing the Doctor, a thin male in a somewhat soiled gold toga, reached into the pouch cinched to his waist and pulled out a communication device.