Just in case you didn’t get to read Left-Handed Life Lessons: Part 1, here is a quick recap of that entry:
- Punctual and grammatical errors.
- Dick joke.
- Did I just break my fucking arm?
Ok, now that you’re caught up, here’s my short film script on how it happened:
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Dumb
INT. MONT BLEU RESORT SHOWROOM – NIGHT
Our protagonist Steve is enjoying “Franco Un-American”, the third song of NOFX’s set when suddenly he gets shoved down, causing him to fall to the ground hands extended. He immediately stands up and acts like it’s no big deal, only to limp away to the corner and nurse it.
Steve Ryan………………Steve Ryan
Written, Directed & Produced
City of Reno
I’ll tell you right now that there is nothing more punk rock than calling your mom at 11pm whilst sobbing in the car. Sid Vicous never had to video dial his mother to see if his arm was broken or sprained. I was as punk rock as a knitting circle. A fucking knitting-circle-jerk.
Big tattooed man hurt me, please fix it.
But at least I didn’t break my arm.
It was a minor fracture, so, after a few x-rays and a trip to the orthopedic surgeon, I found that a couple Vicodin a day and a sling really did the job. No harm no foul. I can use both hands again! Rubbed some dirt on it and walked it off.
Which is a good and bad thing.
- I have no health insurance. A cast or surgery would’ve cost a shitload of money that I don’t have, so it’s good that I didn’t break it.
- A fracture is only minimal pain, and that pain was more than enough for my weak, frail, body. I would’ve cried if it had broke, I now know that, and am deeply ashamed.
…and that’s the good.
Here’s the bad thing about that arm not breaking-
I didn’t learn my lesson.
It seemed in last week’s entry that I had finally grown up, learned my limits on what I can and can’t do at my age, but, I didn’t. In fact, I really want to go see Social Distortion in a few weeks when they come to Reno. Anyone wanna go?
This did put a few things into perspective about how I view my bumps in the road of life. It seems that life’s hiccups and misfortunes are measured in two ways now: Fractures or Breaks.
Take money for example, I never have any. It’s a simple solution of ‘not enough coming in, to fund what’s going out’ equation. My bank account is always getting injured by overdrawing, and instead of budgeting myself, I just see it as a minor fracture and do it 3 months later. I didn’t learn anything.
I haven’t completely lost that safety net of hitting rock bottom that a ‘broken arm’ would teach you. My life is full of fractures, and it’s not helping me by recovering from them gracefully. I need an Aron Ralston ’127 hours’ moment of maturity; break it or cut it off, Steve.
When I knew I was going to be a dad, that broke my arm. I made a decision to be a good dad, and care about Killian, and it’s something I will never have to be reminded to do. I got it.
However, that seems to be the only thing I have learned.
I just fractured my grades this semester in school. I completely screwed up, so I’m paying my own way this next semester ($3000!). I will hopefully upgrade this to a ‘break’ and never have to worry about messing up again. Time will tell.
- Drinking is a fracture.
- My constant need for attention is a fracture.
- Not saving enough money is a fracture.
- My immature sense of humor is a fracture.
- Not having a career anymore at 28 is a fracture.
- Constantly mentioning masturbation in a blog entry is a fracture. (You thought I’d forget.)
- My recent fracture is, well…a fracture.
I’m ready to tear shit up again. Ready for nostalgia. Ready for fun.
…and it’s that mentality that turns you into the old punker I never want to be.
So I leave you with this last plea; somebody, anybody, please…
Break my fucking arm.