Some of you know that I was in a car accident that killed my wife and unborn son, and put me in a coma for eight months, and that I spent a year in a mental hospital when i woke up after they told me. What you may not have known is that I spent a long time learning how to walK and that I got addicted to painkillers and my knee and thigh and ankle and collar bone were shot to shit.
Well, the point is this - nine months after I ditched the cane, my knee has stared to severely act up. It feels like the implant is wearing out. Sleeping on concrete most nights, you know.
But tonight? My God, the pain. I’ve downed a fuckton of whiskey, and no, not helping.
Surgery would be the logical step. But how? Homeless, no money, no address, no NHS helping me… But I’m used to that, right? And look, I’m not angling for pity here, Christ, you get that, I hope. I’m the last man left - while every other bearded weirdo hipster is “getting sensitive”, and all that, and worrying about MUH SOJ UH KNEE, I’m happy to report that I’m a man. And I’m comfortable with that. So, no, I’m not whining. I’m just saying… I’m on my way out. Car accident, ongoing problems with smoking related cancer… Look. I just saying, I’m good. But I wouldn’t be much of a blogger if I didn’t at least let you know that I’m not doing too well.
So save your pity, cunts, because I’m still me.
SNOOGANS
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