Progress Report – 15
Brian J. Sullivan
People often ask me what I have for breakfast (as if knowing would be some kind of enlightening experience). On good days I'm feed a steady diet of rejection, on all other days I eat the same tasteless brand of granola that I have eaten for over twenty years (think of dry dog food without the crunch). Sometimes I even spice it up with a banana on the side. Exciting, isn't? Aren’t you glad you asked?
When in season, I will substitute the banana with peaches, plums, or pears. However, I am becoming increasingly frustrated with the advent of labeling each piece of fruit. It's difficult enough trying to focus my trifocals, much less trying to pick the hard to remove labels off each fruit's delicate skin. It takes more time to get the label off than it takes to eat the fruit. So I don't – take the label off - that is.
Besides staring at the four walls of my efficiency apartment, the highlight of my day is the arrival of the mail. Not that I ever receive any personal mail, but one can always hope. The routine goes like this; junk mail to the circular file, magazines to the kitchen table, and all "other" to the "in-basket". Next I return to the magazine pile. Sitting around day after day convalescing has created a low threshold of tolerance for magazine ads. No, I'm not just talking about the occasional postcard size ones stuck between the pages. I'm referring to the full page ads. I methodically go through each magazine, page by page and tear out each page which contains an ad on both sides. When I'm done, I usually have a large stack of loose pages destined for the trash and a magazine half its original size. Listening to many of your comments, I can tell I'm not the only one who does this either.
My daily ritual also includes strapping on my leg, or I should say my "plastic non-flexible walking cast"(25lbs. Frankenstein-like boot, solid black). Down the front of it is a series of Velcro straps which need to be slipped through a corresponding buckle and cinched tight! I liken it to a Victorian corset, the tighter the better! Remember it's all about looking good, not feeling good. After about a twenty minute ordeal to squeeze the circulation out of my leg I'm ready to "peg-leg" my way to the grocery store for some whole milk and fruit with individual labels adhered to them.