The Youngest Old Codger in the Land
Posted By Russ Emerson on October 29, 2010 at 12:31 pm
That’s the title I’ve decided to bestow upon myself.
Yesterday I received a parcel, an item I’d ordered:
Yeah… that’s a walker. Dammit.
Well, really it’s a roller. It even comes with lockable hand brakes.
As suggested by various friends, I’ll be retrofitting it with twin .50-cal MGs, and (my own idea) a bitchin’ flame paint job.
It’s still a walker.
I’m 48.
Dammit.
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Paint some flames down the sides, slap some spinners on the rims… maybe some fake machine guns or rubber bayonets and spikes. Hell, strap on a toy rocket launcher.
Things like this you can resent, or embrace. It’s your call — sentence, or opportunity.
I have a medical condition that requires daily injections. I use drug lingo — shooting up, need my fix, got my works with me, and so on. It’s a coping mechanism.
J.
Coping mechanism… yes, that’s just the right way to look at it.
While I resent the hell out of it, I do try to minimize it, or mock it. I certainly won’t go all PC mushy/whiny about it.
My main worry is that if I keep calling myself a crip, the Bloods will be coming to get me.