Join me?

I'm pity partying today. Why, you ask? Let me put it this way... I've never been so frustrated with winter in my life. The sidewalks are never plowed on campus, and this gimp is not a happy one. Indeed. I hate putting so much effort into the dumb frump throne for it to respond with one inch of movement.
Where's the justice in this world? Where's the mercy?
Where is that stupid snow plow
And where the hey is my bed???

You could say I'm peeved. You could say I'm exhausted. You could also say I'm out of shape. But despite what you decide to say, help a gimp in need today.

Enough is enough.

I sleep on the edge of consciousness

Nothingness.




Only strange dreams and sleepless nights.

Plaid suit coats and falling into bathtubs

Little did Marley know when she came to sit by me at church that we would embark on such an adventure.



On a more serious note:

"Just remember: there ARE weeds and thorns and even a wicked witch."

Oh, how I love the pain.

Or not.
I haven't looked at my foot yet. The thought of it makes me woozy. I know what you're thinking. "How could she assemble the picture collage without seeing her foot?" my rebuttal? I have my ways.
I'm in pain. All the time.
Not gonna lie, love all the service people render me. Especially the cute, male people. But in all honesty, I really deeply appreciate it.

Gimp Row and other such jokes.

Surgery came and went. Wowy. I can't even believe it has almost been two weeks. I am drowning in homework. Who knew I could get so far behind by missing the first week of the semester?

The handi-scooter rocks. Although, I have to admit, my pride was hurt a little on Monday because of all the stares I got and people's comments about me and Vi (the scooter) within my hearing distance.
Nevertheless, I cruise across the BYU campus on that thing with my head held high these days. Because I tell my self that everyone is just jealous. Some strangers have even verbally expressed it (not to my face, but, once again,... within hearing distance). I've gotten lots of sympathy, which feels great, to be honest. It boosts my self-esteem back up. Which sounds really... Vain? Uh. Selfish? Something like that. But after being invisible for a semester, I feel like this gives people something to talk to me about. So I'm justified. I've told my story approximately twenty million times, and I basically have the whole thing down to a two-minute monologue. Okay, that was a dramatization, but it's whatevs.
My favorite coasting hill is the one on the south side of the library when you're headed toward the JFSB {so many acronyms at BYU, it's insane}. That hill doubles as the worst to scoot up. I have to wait until a gap appears in the masses of students and then get a running start at it. Sometimes I nearly make it to the top. I'm sure I am a great source of entertainment, now that I think about it. Either way, it's a great workout.
Gimp Row. Let me elaborate. I work in the BYU Bookstore. In the Pack and Ship. Right now there are two of us pack & shippers on scooters like Vi. Me and a boy named Madison. He's attractive, but that's not the point. We both are useless and always in the way at the front counter, so we get to sit in the back! We're on the processing side of the table most of the time with our gimpy feet propped up on the scooters. Our coworkers started calling us Gimp Row as a joke, and it stuck. Twinners!

Stay tuned for pictures and more stories from The Chronicles of the Gimpy Kid.

P.s. The cast comes off tomorrow! Holler.

the sun sets on the final day.

Surgery. Tomorrow. Trying to stay positive.

My last time wearing a right shoe for a while. 

I can't believe I actually got ready for the day.

**Here's the thing. That sweater is NOT orange. I don't wear orange. It's red.**

wish me luck.

"It's the hope for all the hopeless
In the worst of trying times"

P.s. I can't even paint my toenails tonight. Definitely the doctor's loss.

Let's see how far we've come

I like making lists. I'm good at it, too.
Compiling scattered lists is exciting.
Mysterious messages found their way into my lists, and I guess I'll never know who the author was. It irks me a little that my private lists were invaded, but at the same time I'll always secretly appreciate that on May 16, 2012 someone loved me.

When change becomes intriguing after a lifetime of fear of the unknown, does that mean I'm growing up?

Doing secret deeds and special jobs make me feel important.

Two days and counting. I'd love it if you could find the time to come see me this weekend.

"We chase the stars to lose our shadow"