Only Decades Away from a Dachshund and a Push Cart

Damn the man - I am still crippled. Less crippled than before, but more than I'd like to be.

But it's not all bad. I enjoy feeling like a victim and I imagine pity right and left.

Once I hobble off the bus, out of the store or up some stairs, with a nicely mustered pained yet very brave and enduring look, people follow me with their eyes. You know how you feel when you accidentally let a door fall shut behind you and it turns out there was a little old lady following close behind you, who got smacked in the head? Maybe you don't know, which is a good sign for humanity. In any case, I like to think that this is how people feel about me. Bad. Bad they didn't let me sit down, bad they made me wait, bad they didn't offer to carry me up the stairs. Yep, that's right. I am just full of confidence that the world is in mourning until I can once again impatiently brush by little old wobbly couples taking up the whole damn sidewalk with their staggered walk, push by ladies with four-row deep baby strollers and obviously make all those people on crutches feel like slow moving chunks of badness impeding the progress of good, healthy individuals on their way to the pub. I can't wait to be her again!

Or just maybe I will end up being nicer. I can't promise, but I do feel like it might blow being a little old lady with one of those pull-behind shopping carts (complete with a dachshund peaking out of it) that you need to use both for balance and in order to transport anything larger than a few sticks of celery or a bottle of milk. Worst of all I can almost see myself heading there, still a good bunch of decades away, but since when am I not able to get up from a fall, hand or foot twisted or gaping hole in head, and just get on with life? It's the beginning of the end my friends. Better score some karma points while I still can.