Long Walk

I went for a long walk this evening.  It ended up being just under 2-1/2 miles.

I used to walk all the time.   Then I developed a vascular problem that limited my walking, because it made my hips and legs hurt after a very short distance.  (I had an intraluminal aortic flap dissection that caused a reduction of blood flow to my lower extremities by about 60%.  After about 50 yards, my hips felt like I had been climbing pyramids to the point of exhaustion.)   Back in April of this year I had an aorto-biiliac stent graft placed to solve this problem.  Unfortunately, I then developed a blockage to the femoral artery in my left leg.  It was blocked long enough that it did some nerve damage.  I spent about two weeks in the hospital, and they sent me home with a walker.

Tonight is the first time I have walked this far in about 5 years.  I probably should have done some shorter distances to work up to it.  But I made it.

My feet hurt now, though!   Of course, that’s just over-use, and they’ll get over it!

I definitely need to get out and do more walking again.

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Don’t Know What To Tell You

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Woke up, despite the fact I’ve not had nearly enough sleep today.   Went and smoked about half of a cigarette (I only smoke outside the house; house rules), and made a cup of coffee to wet my whistle.   Decided I hadn’t written anything here for a couple of days, so probably should.

I’m just not sure I feel up to writing anything I would consider worthy of “my readers.”   (Both of you?)

Actually, I don’t have many followers here.  (Dare I say “yet”?)  I’m not sure I know how to generate followers.  I often have this problem when I’m writing.  I don’t feel that I know what most people think most of the time.   It’s that sensation that I missed something, growing up.  Somewhere along the line, everybody else learned “the rules” and I didn’t.  Anyone else feeling that way?

I suppose I’m smart.  After all, I belonged to Mensa at one time.  I could re-activate my membership just by paying the dues.  It’s that old chestnut, “If your’e so smart, why ain’t you rich?”   I don’t think I ever really wanted to be “rich.”  I have wanted to be secure and comfortable.  Not worried about paying rent or keeping the lights on or buying food.   And I am not even successful at that anymore.

You’d think I’d know how to manage that.

If I’m all that smart, I should be able to sit down and write anything I want, right?   I always thought it wasn’t necessarily that way, but should be.  A “wordsmith” should be like a blacksmith.   Hand them a chunk of raw iron bar, and they can hammer out whatever you need.  A horseshoe, a pair of tongs, a sword…   A wordsmith should be able to take the 26 jewels of the American English alphabet and put them together into the proper words for any occasion.  To tell you about a movie or a book, to tell the story of their life or someone else’s, or to describe a new dress or dish.  A short-story or a movie script either one should come as easily.  We gravitate to certain forms for our writing because we want to.  If I wanted to write a blog every day and generate a following and get advertisers to pay me for putting their ClickBank or other ads on my blog or page to attract my readers, well, I should just do that and generate an income.  Right?

I’m smart.

You’d think I’d know how to manage that.

But apparently I don’t.

I don’t know what to tell you.