Have you ever discovered your finger was bleeding, but couldn’t remember why? That happens to me a lot. Which basically means one of two things: Either I’m completely oblivious to the world around me. Or I suffer from Multiple Personality Disorder. I’m hoping for the latter.

Sure, MPD is a horrible mental disease. But sometimes I like to think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of me that likes to go out, wreak havoc and have fun. For instance, that cut I discovered on my finger. Maybe it wasn’t from an accident. Maybe it was from punching someone in the face during a late-night bar fight. And I fucking won! Yeah! Take that, motherfucker!

Hm, if I do lead a double life, I wonder what my other name is. Tyler? Nah, too obvious. It’s gotta be something wicked sounding, like Ivan. Yeah, Ivan. “Oh, shit!” the bar patrons would cry. “It’s Ivan!” And then they would scramble. But there would always be that one guy who was new and wasn’t easily intimidated. “Who the fuck is Ivan?” he’d ask. And I’d be more than happy to give him the answer. But then, to show him there were no hard feelings, I’d give him a lift to the hospital, maybe even send him a get-well card. Ivan may be one tough customer, but he’s also got a heart of gold.

OK, that might explain the cut on my finger. But figure this one out: A couple of mornings ago, I woke up to discover that my left achilles tendon was hurting like a motherfucker. I mean, I could barely move it. I ended up limping around for most of the morning until I broke down and popped four Ibuprofen and half a Vicodin. The Vicodin wasn’t just for the tendon. It was to kill the pain from icing my damn foot. OUCH! Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off? Who came up with that shit, some kind of masochist?

Anyhow, where was I? Oh right, the tendon. I don’t know how this could’ve happened. I never exercise. So it’s not like I pulled it doing power sprints or something. No, there could only be one explanation: Ivan. That motherfucker. He must’ve gotten up shortly after I fell asleep and then went jogging — without bothering to stretch first! Yeah, so now I have to deal with this ache in my ankle. Thanks a lot, Ivan. You selfish prick.

. . .

OK, fine. I admit it. I kind of remember feeling a slight pain in my achilles while i was walking up the stairs the day before — walking, mind you. Not running. Oy, I am so out of shape, it isn’t even funny. Actually, I guess it kinda is.