I {thought I} can fly …

.
6 + 1 books by my side.
Besides the iBook, all but one are fictional.
I can’t concentrate. 
Nothing seems to hold my interest for very long.
The throbbing pain is killing me. It’s the arch of my left foot.
Only now I don’t have an arch anymore. I have developed quite the reverse. A bump.
.
‘Funny,’ I thought. ‘So this is what’s its like to have a speed bump along the inner foot bed.’
Silly. Foot don’t have speed bumps.
This is not F1 influencing my mind either.
It’s the chemicals that seems to mess up the mind, but not ease the pain.
sheesh … painkiller??? More like PAINkiller
I had taken a nasty fall in the shower earlier.
God knows why I {thought I} can fly.
I had soaped the right foot. The base of the right foot to be precise.
Then placed it down on the floor without rinsing off the soap. Lifted my left leg to repeat the same process with the left foot …
{swoooosh…. minus the grey smoke cloud in cartoons}
I {thought I} can fly
800 mg ibuprofen down. I hour apart.
I know I shouldn’t, but hey! we’ve got bigger problems.
I can take my mind off the Vicodin or the tubes of Domicom in the bar fridge.
Oh. Those lovely ‘babies’ in their slender chilled tubes. 
‘NO! Read Penny.’
My mind can be absolutely uncooperative at times.
The heart is much much nicer. All the time.
Compared to the brain … the brain deserves many words inappropriate to be typed out.
The excruciating pain makes it impossible to sleep. Mobility is out of the question. But sure as hell didn’t stop me from limping my way to the bookshelf for 6 books + grabbing the iBook. See, the last time my foot went bust, I was thankful I had a HUGE 4 poster bed -cum- book shelf stacked with books. Deliriously happy (drug induced slightly) until my peace and tranquility is disrupted by the mobile vibrating like crazy. Who else? but work!
Anyways, I am thinking ‘H-A-P-P-Y’ – well, in my twisted happy cynical inside joke kindda way thoughts. Look, I am no Jack Cranfield disciple. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to. Chicken is off limits for me. So, no way am I touching Chicken Soup {for the Soul}.
See, I am the Banksy type. 
If he so much as sprays one of his political stencils on my thigh, the current psychedelic shades of blue-black-green with wiggly purple veins backdrop will make this public viewing private art a hit! I’m estimating a 100 grand price tag on it to be auction by Sotheby’s.
I’ll be playing Blue Öyster Cult
.
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