How’d You Break Your Ankle, Mr. Anderson?

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Samson had his hair, and apparently I have my ankle. Any creative thought I had has left me and it all goes back to the day I broke my ankle.

Apparently the pain in my right ankle has activated the left side of my brain and shorted out the right. So now I feel this overwhelming pressure to post something. My brain’s more logical hemisphere has created deadline after deadline to which the other half replies, “I got nothin.’”

Maybe there is no mystical connection between my foot and my most recent case of writers’ block. Maybe it just stems from the fact that I’m not allowed to drive for 6 weeks and have been relegated to the shotgun seat of my father’s sedan to and from work. His radio eschews entertainment for frequent traffic updates. Hmm, maybe I’ll blog about the tie up on the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Or maybe nothin’.

Even when something crazy happens, I am unable to turn it into the gold that you have all become accustomed to. For example, I was leaving a local convenience store, and a guy was coming in at the same time, and did that thing where he tried to hold the door for me, but missed. It was no big deal, and I appreciated the effort. Anyway, he probably said, “Sorry, bud.” but I heard, “Sorry, Bob.” It took a second to register and I looked back and he was still looking at me. I looked around, and there were like three other people in the parking lot looking at me too, and they all had this look on their faces like they were worried I had caught on to something. I was in the fucking Matrix, or at the very least the Truman Show. Either way, I was really freaked out the rest of the way home.

There have been no other hiccups in the matrix since (I expected some deja vu), but I will keep you posted as I get closer to discovering the essence of our universe.

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