Meanwhile, Two Decades Later…

Ahh, 1994. Bill Clinton was president of the United States. Nelson Mandela became the first black president of South Africa. Comet Shoemaker-Levy hit Jupiter, George Foreman hit Michael Moorer, and the Lion King hit EVERYTHING. It was big, y’all. Harry Styles, Dakota Fanning, and Justin Bieber came into the world, while Jack Kirby, Dinah Shore, John Candy, Kurt Cobain, Raúl Juliá, and Cab Calloway all left it. Doesn’t seem like a good trade, but no one asked me, so. (that’s actually only a swipe at one of those born in ’94, by the way. I have no opinion on the other two.) Another movie released in 1994 was the Star Trek “bridge” movie passing the torch from the original series (TOS) to The Next Generation (TNG)–aptly titled Generations. This post is not about that movie. In 1994, I had nothing to do with any of the above. I was working as a Jack in the Box drive-through cashier and also as nanny to three children, and dreaming of writing books but doing very little actual writing of anything. But 1994 was the year I decided I needed to change that. Writers, I reasoned, should write things.* Or they should not call themselves writers. Enter this poster. I snagged it from work because duh. It was a free Star Trek poster. I used it to get myself to write most days in 1995, and finish my first novel. But this post isn’t really about that, either. It’s about the fact that…

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Starting Out with a Pain

Yeah, so 2019 has started off kind of rough for me. But to be fair, this all started late last year. It’s just carried over into this year. So, about six months ago or thereabouts, I began having pain just above my right heel whenever I would stand up. Because I typically have random aches and pains that end up being nothing, I didn’t even think about it. But then my mom saw me hobbling around and asked what was wrong. I was like, “Oh, my heel hurts. No biggie.” Well, because she has heel spurs, she was pretty worried. And then it progressed to all the time. So it was time to see the doctor. He diagnosed Achilles Tendonitis, told me to rest it/ice it/take Motrin and call him if it wasn’t better in two weeks. Well, it ended up being longer because the holidays were coming up and being that I don’t drive, I had to wait for someone to take me. So it was in October that I finally saw the doctor again. He wanted an MRI; my insurance squawked and made me get an X-ray, another find-a-ride-ordeal. I finally got my MRI right after Thanksgiving. My doctor’s office called me and told me the results: Achilles Tendonitis (you don’t say?), edema (swelling), and a complete tear of the anterior something-something ligament. In other words, a very severe sprain. Now, most people who aren’t me probably know when it happened. They either fell, twisted it funny, or…

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