I can hobble. As long as I don’t flex my left foot, really, I can hobble. I wouldn’t try to wear a proper shoe (so, slip-on loafer), but I can hobble enough for my usual Wednesday breakfast at John Street Cafe, just two blocks away. Even if it kills the rest of my day, and I’m keeping myself from seeing it as any kind of predictor or indictator of what I’ll be able to handle over the next two days. But, for now, I can hobble.
Bix dot Blog
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
No fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.