I spent yesterday in a hillbilly-heroin induced stupor. I basically just sat and drooled at the cartoon network all day. However, I am walking better than the day before so I think I will simply shake this thing off in less than a week.
A sack of fluid-like substance formed on my thigh. It has been numb to the touch since it first appeared, but now it is starting to get a slight tingling sensation and a vague itching feeling to it. I am going to take that as proof that it's starting to heal.
Note to anyone who falls off the roof; do not eat junk food while you are healing. Since I could not walk much more than a shuffle, ever since Saturday I have been eating those crappy little shit pizzas I got from the Albertson's special last week. I am sure the pizza 'sauce' is actually composed of salt, water and red dye #5. I ate those as well as those mini-egg roles. I basically quadrupled my normal salt intake.
Because I had problems lying down I have been sleeping sitting up on the couch with a pillow stuffed behind my back. This morning I woke up and shuffled to my feet and felt something weird. I looked down and saw that my feet had swollen up like balloons. Because of all the salt I was eating I had retained water and because I have not been laying down, it pooled up into my feet. So it's off the junk food for the next couple of days. For lunch today I am going to go out and get a pineapple. A couple of them, actually. The fiber will help clear the salt from my system and the bromelain will help heal my contusions.
Tonight after work I'll go for a shuffle around the block, get some circulation going.
Alan found a mystery phone in my yard. I have no clue what part of the yard he found it in. It's a cordless phone, not a cell phone. This morning I shuffled around the tri-yard area to see if I could find the base connection, but I did not turn up anything. I will have to do some more exploring with it tonight. I need to find out where he found it… if it was in my front yard its understandable, because all kinds of crap appears there. However if it was in my backyard, that is a bit more disturbing. I might have to put some locks on my fence.
People are so much more pleasant when I am on Oxycotin. I could almost be sociable.
2026 Update
Setting the dial for May 2006 — Ed is drooling, swollen, and adopting a mystery phone like a porch cat.
Ah, 2006: a beautiful, horrible amber of a year. You have fallen off a roof, stuffed yourself with Albertson's ‘pizza sauce’ that is basically a chemistry experiment, and treated a mystery cordless phone like a pleasant afternoon mystery. Twenty years later, the details are almost anthropological. A cordless phone in the yard now would be a mystery smartphone with a cracked screen and a dead battery, and no base station to hunt for—just a lost piece of identity to be wiped or ignored. The OxyContin haze you floated through would be far harder to come by; these days the system watches those prescriptions like a hawk and offers you a video visit and a lecture instead. The junk food is still junk, but now you'd summon it through an app and pay a fee for the privilege of the same red dye #5, and your swollen feet would be documented for a social media audience. Even your recovery shuffle around the block would come with wearable step counts and a guilt notification. You were drooling at Cartoon Network; we drool at infinite streams. Some progress.
“2006 Ed, why was your first reaction to a mystery phone in the yard to worry about fence locks, not to wonder who lost it or why they kept calling? Were you genuinely planning to answer that thing and ask it how it got there, or were you just too hopped up to think straight?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, first off, you gotta understand the state I was in. I was on that hillbilly heroin, sittin’ there droolin’ at the Cartoon Network, and my feet were the size of hams. My brain wasn't exactly runnin' on premium fuel. But the fence lock thing ain't as dumb as it sounds. This is Sanford. Crap shows up in my yard all the time—front yard, sure, but if that phone was back there, somebody was in my space while I was hopped up and helpless. That ain't about the phone, that's about me not wantin' some stranger pokin' around my tri-yard when I can barely shuffle. And no, I weren't plannin' to answer it and have a nice chat. I figured I'd find the base, maybe get a free cordless phone outta the deal. The mystery is just gravy. Bein' sociable takes too much effort; bein' paranoid, I get that for free.
