Iris

I like flowers. I should learn their names.

Sadly, I can't.

The brain is surely more than wiring and neural paths, but that image works nicely as shorthand for me. And there are some things that my brain is not wired to do. Such as appreciate musicals. Man, how do I try! And yet my brain keeps telling me, "dude, you're right. This pretty much sucks. Doesn't anyone else here see that?!" That's what my brain says.

Because of the faulty wiring--I can't help it.

The brain is pretty versatile, and there are some activities that can be learned even if the original part of the brain slotted for that section is damaged or underdeveloped. (See above, about musicals.) Sort of like learning to write with your non-dominant hand.

What is the non-dominant hand called? I prefer to refer to it as the "left" hand, but some weirdos out there may object to that as slightly "handist." Those would be the lefties out there. But "weak" hand doesn't seem quite right, and neither does "recessive" hand. So I stick with "non-dominant" hand.

As I was saying....

Your left, ahem, non-dominant hand can learn to do stuff your dominant hand can do better, but it won't be a natural or easy process. Similarly, your brain apparently can use alternative routes to accomplish what it must, but it's not as efficient.

Which brings me to my injured leg. Guess when my leg exploded when Randy Richardson kicked me during a game of basketball?

That's right. Last freaking May!!

Here's what Randy did to me.





Those are not photos of an amputated leg on a sink. Those are photos of my exploded (non-amputed) leg on my sink.

I went to the orthopedic doctor, who saw me hobble in like Quasimodo (with a serious leg injury), and he looked at it and said something like, "well, it's a moderate strain." Or pull. Or tear. But what he did not say as he should have said is this: "Your leg just freakin' exploded, dude! Did Richardson kick you with his cowboy boots?!!" And here's the other thing. I went to visit the doctor a week or so after it happened. So when I limped in to see him like Dr. Frankenstein's Igor, he should have known better.

My leg is not close to being healed. It's so so discouraging. You can stand up on your tippy-toes, right? Which means that your calf muscles are working properly (enough). I can get on my tippy-toes only because my left leg is doing all the work. When I shift my (considerable) weight to the right leg, I immediately drop--plop--to the ground.

Which leads you to ask, naturally enough, how I can be running in a 5k this March. You're thinking, "dude, I know what you look like, what, with all those self-portraits you put on your blog and all. You have no business running a 5k even with a healed leg. But running it without a healed leg, well, that is incredible. I stand amazed. Frankly, you're my hero."

Is what you'd say. And I don't blame you, especially the nice compliment you paid me after the rude insult. (I forgive you.)

To which I reply, yes, you're right. I have no business running the race. First, because I fear my heart will explode during the race much as my leg did last May (when Richardson took a bat to my leg and just started swinging at me like I was a no-look passing, three-point shot drilling pinata). Second, I'm not technically "running." It's more of a vigorous Quasimodo-Igor shuffle. You know, on account of my leg and all. Third, and here's the real point that ties everything noted above all together in a pretty bow: my other muscles have partially compensated for my paralyzed exploded calf. well, maybe not "other muscles," because I guess it's all calf muscles. As seen here.



Which is what I'm saying about flowers. I have tried many, many times--and I'm being 94% sincere right now--to learn the names of flowers. And I can't. I just can't.

Here are the flowers I can name by sight:

Iris. (See picture above.)

Dandelion.

Rose.

Carnation (when in a wrapper at WalMart marked "carnation.").

Daisy.

Venus flytrap.

Dogwood petals.

Butterflies.

And that's it.

Here's a photo of a pretty green flower I took last summer in D.C.



I also can't learn lyrics.