Hubris or is it the drugs?

Okay, so now I've started and am having second thoughts. How come I don't get second thoughts before other past actions that eventually get me in trouble? Anyway, I know I just posted hours ago but the Vicodin I took for the hip surgery must be wearing out. I've tried to be still so my body wouldn't metabolize it so quickly but what can you do?

I'm pondering whether my blogging is all pride and hubris. After all, what can I write that would be so important that someone would want to read it? Of course I'm forcing my partner to read it but what if that's it? Will I be crestfallen and depressed should my ramblings be totally ignored, my whole delicate facade of self esteem crumbling under the weight of my self doubt and psychotic upbringing? (more on that later, maybe a whole new blog site). Will I need years of self evaluation and soul searching with a therapist with a beard? Hmmmm, I just read that over, seems the Vicodin is still doing it's job, except I do feel the pain of having had read that. Beard?Back to the subject: Worse, what if my musings trigger other similarly disposed individuals to appear and try to contact me? Do I need to know that I'm not alone and not special, like my therapist promised? (more on that later, too) and confirm that I'm, omigosh, common?

I thought of telling all my friends about this blog so they can read and even comment on it. But do I want that? Being relatively anonymous is freeing. I can say things that would upset, freak out, annoy, insult my friends without suffering the consequences. On the other hand, I could write things that would enrich, elevate, astound and invigorate my friends. You're right, who am I kidding, more than likely it would be the former over the later. I do have one friend who already knows of this blog, she's my blogmentor, so feel free to visit her at: http://retiredsyd.typepad.com/ to comment on the menace she has set upon the world or just pity her for having associated with me.

I just got up and hobbled to the facilities to take care of some pressing personal matters and picked up my laptop and realized that I had completely forgotten where the heck I was in writing this. Confirmed: vicodin still in bloodstream, mostly in head. Must sense where needed most.

Oh yes, I was writing about hubris, blogging, getting read or not read, blah, blah, blah. As I recall, there are at least 2 people who will read my blog not accidentally. At least my partner will (I'll make sure of that) but of course retiredSydney will eventually find something else to do, wash her hair, volunteer for jury duty, take up fly fishing, whatever. She's married to a great guy, maybe she can find something to do with him. He doesn't have a blog that I know of so he's got plenty of time.

Actually, writing about hubris in regards to my own writing is hubric in and of itself, isn't it? Writing scads of words strung together to ultimately say nothing at all is pretty prideful as well. Expecting someone to plow through the detritus of my mental machinations (whoa what was that? a vicodin spike?) and come out the far end better for it would be the epitome of hubris. Well, my mother always said if I was going to do something, do it well, and finally I think I've done it. She'd be proud. Of course, she'll never know, she won't get to read this blog, I'm prideful but not crazy.

Raison D'etre

Well here I am, a blogger neophyte so bored and afraid of doing any chores that I've started to blog, post hip surgery. Perhaps some history is in order. But not too much. I had a partial hip surgery in 1991 post bicycle accident on the streets of my hometown, San Francisco. I'm sure it was with a tourist trying to beat me around a corner on Lake Street, a beautiful street with a dedicated bike lane-which I was using. Anyway, it was partial because I was deemed too young for a full hip replacement. I guess now I'm old enough to get a complete one and that's what I got, 3 days ago, June 30, 2008. It wasn't as bad as the first one (WARNING: SOME GORY DETAILS TO FOLLOW) where they basically cut off the ball at the top of my femur then hammer in a metal ball and stem piece down the shaft of the bone. Blood splattering across the room, splinters of bone flying every which way. Messy. All this while my right foot is resting next to my left ear. Sort of a mega yoga position. THIS time it was the same yoga position but no hammering just getting a cap placed where the metal ball has over lo these may years of walking, standing, bending, twisting, worn the old cartilage away to painful exposed raw bone. Hence the title "Hipster." I thought since it was my right hip in question, Righteous Hipster would be a great title but I certainly can't claim to be right even some of the time so being righteous would not only be false advertising but rather hypocritical. I should be saving that for the posts and not blowing it all on the title, don't you think?

Sooooo, 3 days post surgery, I'm at home and having talked to blogger friend Sydney, http://sydney821.vox.com/, whose been blogging about her retirement (I'm not retired so I'm tempted to change that blogging to bragging but she really doesn't brag about it, it's my internal green eyed monster controling what little brain cells that have recovered from general anesthesia, please ignore). She's showing me the ropes and, if I don't hang myself from them, it'll be my recovery journal. Not just from surgery either.
Onward.........