Stu News and Photos

The nice thing about a blog is that you have a choice as to what you write about. The downside is you have readers that you care about, so it becomes difficult to hide certain things, because you feel that your readers deserve to hear all about you, not just how great you are.

Me, I'm a moron.

Y'see, two days ago, I was outside. I was taking garbage to the cans or some-such nonsense. As I passed the corner of our house, I remembered the events that led up to my injury. As I stared at the corner of the house, I really had trouble understanding how it could happen.

This is the part where my friends say, Stu, you watch too much House.

I stared at the corner, I thought for a moment, trying to remember what happened. Eventually I did what any self-described moron would do - I attempted a reenactment.

I walked up to the corner, turned sideways, and then pretended to go for the soccer ball. Except as I did it (in slow-motion), it didn't fit. I kept hitting my chest way higher than the location of my injury. So I thought for a bit, and then it occurred to me: I must have seen the house out of the corner of my eye, and, at the last second, reared my head back to avoid smacking it on the stucco. So what did I do? I tried to reenact that.

Yeah, you guessed it. I set myself up again as I pretended to turn and chase after the imaginary ball, slowly reared my head back, which lifted my chest. Except that it now lined up perfectly with my old wound. I was going fast enough that not only did it line up, it lined up so perfectly that I re-injured myself.

As I said, I'm a moron. Really, how did I not see that coming? Darwin might as well be screaming at the top of his lungs, "Hey, you, out of the gene pool!"

So, now I'm back to long rests and no upper-body effort. I can still walk, so I still get my exercise, but I'm off the eliptical and pushups and whatnot for at least two weeks.

Thankfully it's not as bad as last time. No pain when sneezing or anything, just a tug when I lift anything, even if it's the toilet seat.

What amazes me is that Leslie didn't hand me my head over it. Nary a click of the tongue, nothin'. I wouldn't have had that discipline, I tell you what.

Anyway, that's that, nothing more to see here, go on about your business.

And have a great day, if you can manage it. And watch out for your house, it may be a silent killer, waiting to pounce on you like an after-school bully. Or maybe it's just my house. Anybody know if Jews have some sort of exorcism rituals?