choices or decisions.

 It's either ruptured ligaments or torn cartilage. Or perhaps torn ligaments or ruptured cartilage? 

I'm not sure which. Even if I had a choice, which I don't, I don't know which I'd choose. Shot in the knee or smashed with a sledge hammer? 

Given such options I look to happier decisions. Short stories, novels or travel writing - the three highest stacks in my piles of the unwritten. 

Self-discipline has given way to misplaced self-pity. 

What a load of bollocks. 

I'll choose the former and flip a coin as to the ligaments and cartilage. 

pics from an adventure

Why do guys become such weenies when they have a cold/injury? Please ignore my self-pitying previous post. Instead have a peak at the pics from my most recent adventure.

My knee does still hurt though. I'm icing it as I type this.

cane and unable

My knee has not experienced the stratospheric miraculous recovery that I had hoped for. In fact, I am now using a cane. The cane isn't for my bad knee though, it's for my good knee. It's not liking the extra work and limping on both legs can't be good. So I've succumbed to the cane - I've not used one since blood poisoning nearly lead to the amputation of my right foot. 

That's another long, stupid story that I hesitate to commit to paper or web. 

The cane is bizarre - with time it can become like another appendage. I hope to be better before that, but in the meantime I hobble the street, counting my pace, trying to make sure it's doing its job. I look like Hugh Laurie's House in both infirmity and miserable demeanor, but in nothing else.

It could be worse, I know that. It could always be worse. 

It could have been both knees.