Eternal Wisdom Of The Ouch

OK, so this was going to be a deconstruction of the latent fascism in "Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends," but the harsh, excruciating reality of inertia changed that.

So, this is my ankle.

Pretty cool, huh? It looks kind of like those bubbles boiling through Agent Smith when Neo lays the Zen-master smackdown on him. That, or a surgically implanted softball.

If only it were something that cool. Instead, it's merely the throbbing result of an ankle staying put while the rest of the body -- and tendons and ligaments -- goes the opposite way in the never-ending pursuit of a constantly bouncing orange ball.

Tonight, driving home from the gym -- left-footed with the aid of cruise control, biting my lip to the kind of pulsing pain that makes cutting off your foot seem like a solution better than the codene that doesn't seem to be working fast enough -- it hits me.

In fact, it hits me so solidly that I actually say it out loud: "Yes, God, I'm alive. Thanks for reminding me."

Now make it stop!

Something about the immediacy of acute pain turns down the volume on anything abstract.

Simple laws of physics.

All that exists is the riot of whatever the opposite of ecstasy is shooting up your leg.

The tangible, eternal wisdom of The Ouch.