visuals . . . january

Before Picture:  My baseline attitude as witnessed at a princess party.

Before Picture: Apparently brains with tumors are safe from zombies.  Now who's ready for the apocalypse?!

{12/ 29/ 11} My seizing lower extremities captured for reasons beyond me by my awesome brother, front of the ambulance riding, Joshua.  He was with me through the whole 9 hour seizing event and beyond.  From Mobile to Birmingham.  Thanks Josh!

In my own bed.  That was my "demoniac cushion" above my head.  So's I didn't huht masailf.

Watch out world here I come . . . I mean it, I'm coming  . . . you just wait . . .  2 points of interest: a} I am NOT going to that package store (too soon?) I am actually going into the adjacent family bookstore to find an "encouraging" item with a gift card from my sweet mother and b} when you're crippled you can darn well rock your jacket tag wherever you want it!

Inside the store.  Adrienne took two pictures at this point.  I had a difficult decision: Use the one that made my face look less fat [above] or the one where my big dome did not obscure my favorite Veggie of the Tales, Bob the Tomato [not pictured]. 2 points of interest a} vanity won the day and b} blue is my go-to color.

{1/ 19/ 12}  Love handle laceration resulting from my midnight mishap.

{1/ 23/ 12}  I made sure to affix a St. Christopher pin to my newly borrowed hot wheels (from a protestant church) before I dared any journey into the big world.  I figured St. Jude would be selfish of me, St. Elmo would be over the top, and St. Mary would be pushing my luck.              
{1/ 23/ 12}  This ain't my first rodeo, people.  That navigational adeptness has been honed over the years across multiple time zones.  Through the mayhem of Orlando's bustling theme parks, most dauntingly so through the recently opened Harry Potter wing.  Through the gauntlet of solopsists (i use the plural form with a grin) missing their connections in Dallas-Fort Worth and Seattle-Tacoma for spending their entire lay-overs chain-smoking in designated areas.  Through the jungles and sands of the Hawaiian Islands.  No sir, this cowboy ain't green t'all.
{1/ 23/ 12}  Not so much saying cheese as thinking it.  The pink slip in my hands is neither an employment dismissal nor a car title--both being inapplicable in my current state.  Also, do not be alarmed, that's not my tumor erupting from my skull, it's a geyser from the fountain behind me.

It's official.  Eat my dust, Wal-Mart parkers.

{1/ 25/ 12}  Physical Therapy Day 1:  a] not a stunt for ABC's "Wipeout" b] I sure hope my therapy will not involve the big balls.
{1/ 25/ 12}  My courteous, good-humored, and, most importantly, gentle therapist assessing my virtually useless left leg's strength.   
{1/ 25/ 12}  Here she is pushing me around.  a] Easiest sobriety test ever.  b] Nonetheless, I scored on the bad side of being a "fall risk".  She was decent enough not to confirm her evaluation by giving me good-sized shove.

Top right, my predicted nemesis.  Top left, my actual nemesis.

This picture was taken two and a half hours after I started coming down the stairs.
{1/ 29/ 12}  Bouncy Ball! 
{1/ 29/ 12}  Using one of those stretchy therapy bands, she told me to perform a rowing motion against her resistance.  Having not attended Welton Academy, she had to show me three times what such a motion entailed.  Once we found our groove, I couldn't help but feel like one of the two of us was about to pull the ol' "let go of the taut stretchy band prank" as the one or the other of us shot back and cracked our skulls.  Maybe by my third visit, I'll trust her thoroughly.  I'm 36 and I don't think I'll ever come to trust myself.
{1/ 29/ 12}  My first go atop the bike.  My therapist is strapping my pitiful left foot to the pedal because it kept falling off willy-nilly.  For the record, I banged out 11 minutes on that bad boy.  Maybe you didn't hear me . . . 11 minutes.  I mean, you could practically cook an entire meal (of Mac and Cheese) in the time I was rockin the RPMs.