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.


Don’t Know What To Tell You


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.