Mr. Graceful

What is my favorite hobby? My memory is a bit shaken but I swear it has to do with standing on a 2.5 inch piece of fiberglass on top of moving water....staircases though, now that's a different matter! I have no memory of what happened, but let's face it, I fell down the stairs and you can spin that from a thousand different possible scenarios and it never adds up to what a 14 yr. old would call "cool." I feel much better...I am already quite bored with the sitting around and unless I get struck with a mad spell of migraines I would say that two weeks away from class is a bit over cautious. Anyone who has considered the size of my head in relation to the insignificant amount of brain it encloses will understand that me falling on my head is like the average person falling on his/her head in a football helmet.

So I went in today to get my nose checked out and after 2 hours in the lobby asleep against the wall (the longest I have been out of bed since Saturday) I was called in by the doctor. First he asks me if I have any photos of myself, luckily I keep my modeling portfolio with me in case I run into a talent scout....no! I have a driver's license that tracks my near obsessive habit of regular appearance changes and most people would not even recognize me, but that's all. Then the doctor said it doesn't look broken but he cannot tell unless I come back on Friday. I told him to look at my CT scans where the neuro-sawbones said they saw the fracture..."Oh yes, perhaps it is broken." In any case I still have to go back on Friday when the swelling goes down for another look...it doesn't look like a need a nosejob though! So one more day at this hospital, which is tantamount to a Soviet breadline, and then hopefully this fiasco is over.

Luckily it is so cold and nasty outside that I probably would not be out much anyway. I did some quick shopping on the way home today, and I got some awfully funny looks..."yeah, I look like a bruised apple, what do you want to do about it?" I think I am going to start telling people I got beat up by the KGB. Right now I gnash my teeth at everyone and walk away (not really...just inspired by Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground and the movie Fight Club)...Its left to be seen if I will be nagged with headaches from time to time now...I figure we can add it to the growing list of mild physical unpleasantries that accompany me...but they do give me much needed excuses to get out of doing things I would rather not do (think quick! how often have I copped out of things cause "my stomach was hurting"...ok...if you are reading this then its likely you do not fit under that rubric...my stomach does hurt, everyday...I think I am pregnant with a porcupine)

I am a sick man...I am a wicked man. An unattractive man. I think my liver hurts. However, I don't know a fig about my sickness, and am not sure what it is that hurts me.

Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

I don't know why I put that, but that "I am a sick man...I am a wicked man" ranks right up there with "Call me Ishmael" as one of the greatest openers! Of course, the Melville fellas are often quick to point out that Moby Dick actually begins with some bizarre historical stuff about whales (etymological I think), etc...give us the great existential opener! I have clearly nothing to say...I am well...I am not sleeping well but thats hardly abnormal...I am bored but thats not a problem (Kierkegaard said boredom was the source of creation...hmm, Kierkegaard lived in Copenhagen!).

I have been reading a bit of Marx lately because I do not have to think much anymore when I read Marx (most of Marx's readers never thought much at any point)...I am quite riled up about how tedious and specialized work hurts the "natural" human tendency to take pleasure in change and stifles our mainspring of creativity! To be fair though I think I take pleasure in not changing things and my creativity is usually at a height when my life is most mundane...I get into a rhythm, "the zone," when I get to the point where I am doing exactly the same things at exactly the same time, you can set your watch to me in San Diego...the chaotic nature of my life here has gone a long way to frustrating my thinking...I have been near distressed at points here in my inability to think quickly or write..."Discipline yourself! Give yourself a style! Overcome yourself!" That is the mantra here.

I should have taken a picture of my face and posted it...without a doubt this will be the experience of the trip so I should have carefully documented it from my various hospital rooms to my nurses and doctors. My face would have been quite a treat though...when my neighbors walked in to the emergency room one girl started crying and another sat down and put her face in her hands and said "oh God." Ha! At least I have an excuse for repulsing people now...well, it is like 104% better (Saddam Hussein once won 104% of the vote with 100% turnout, now thats a mandate!)...my eyes are bruised but not swollen, I could not open them at the hospital. I cleaned up my face and my cuts look a lot less substantial than they once did...I have a little nazi scrape on my upper lip...why does the face always seem to cut like that upon a fall or something...its really ridiculous looking...ok, I am going to bed...

Wait! One last thing, the doctors said that I was speaking French to them when I was unconscious...maybe some of it did sink in! I need a psychoanalyst to now bring it out of my unconscious, I want a postmodern one, but leave its little Freudian friends down there! Ok...insane rambling limit has been reached today...man, I must have hit my head or something!