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From Limp to Swagger

Seth finds his stride, so to speak.

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The last few weeks have been especially rough.  There was one day, in particular, during which the world seemed to be closing in on me:  I couldn't get from point A to B without above average amounts of pain.  I couldn't open jars, write for more than a few minutes at a time, or lock my finicky door.

It certainly doesn't help that the locksmith who installed the lock on my door must have been an ex-convict because he jerry-rigged this thing to be so difficult to lock/unlock that it takes five minutes every time to get the damn key to work.  I guess it's better to be safe then sorry ...

That said, I wasn't going to allow a little bit (OK, a lot) of pain stand in the way of an overbooked social schedule, with parties, dinners and celebrations to attend every day of the week.  The world kicked back into overdrive after the lull of the holidays.

There was one day, in particular, during which the world seemed to be closing in on me:  I couldn't get from point A to B without above average amounts of pain.  I couldn't open jars, write for more than a few minutes at a time, or lock my finicky door.

As the week progressed, my limp became more pronounced.  By Friday I was outside of a club, approaching the doorman, and he said, "A man with swagger like that must be important."  It made my day!  I smiled and thanked him, and proceeded downstairs (slowly) but felt as though my pain was not for nothing after a shout out from a giant bouncer like that.

There are worse things in this world, I suppose.

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