I refuse to think of myself as “handicapped” — nor any other variant of the word. (handi-capable? differently-abled?)

Yes, I now use a cane every now and again — and with a regularity and at times that most people likely wouldn’t comprehend. Yes, I’m still finding a way to work with the limitations that were foisted upon me in January.

Until…

Until, with a modicum of tenaciousness, I return to running, and cycling, and motorcycling, and driving, and all of the other independent personal freedoms I once enjoyed.

Handicapped?

By some interpretations, currently, perhaps.

But not for long.

Nearly. From the infection, that is. Here we are, September, and I’ve a couple things on my To Do list, that I’m hoping to have done soon:

-a work trip… once this bloody PICC line is removed, of course.

-rebuilding the primer/fuel filter assembly on the truck.

-getting a mount/ledge assembled for my exercise bike.

-actually -using- said exercise bike (I nearly have the strength to do very brief rides).

-rearranging my office. Need to rearrange it every now and again until I find something I like.

-several more complex carpentry projects—think “furniture”, of course.

-there’s a sailboat in need of being built—to say nothing, of course of the neglected sailboat whose hull needs to be reglassed.

-wood floors need to be installed in the house.

-oh, and we’ll need to do a bit of house-hunting in a nearby, but much larger city.

Rather embarrassingly, I’ve also picked up a cane — yes, really — to help me out a bit with balance in those somewhat unfamiliar areas or when I become mentally fatigued. Though few things are quite as entertaining as a middle-aged guy wearing a jogging shirt (and who actually jogs every now and again) but carries around a cane. People’s heads become somewhat explodey whilst they try to do the mental gymnastics.