Logic is a conundrum. That which sups upon the wretched singularity of the soul and gibbers unsated, slathering beyond redemption among voracious gullets of woe, seeking to consume every vestige of complacent acceptance until only oblivion remains. And as that creeping, insidious ivy grasps and claws, rending thought and will asunder, naught but confusion reigns where once supreme and permanent wisdom wrought transcendent equilibrium before the sack of time forgotten and unsung.

It has come to my attention that I haven’t shared the fact I’m now wearing a cast over my ankle. It would appear that my foot problems weren’t fully explained by the tendon rupture. According to my newly acquired orthopedic specialist, the fact my peroneal tendon hurts without any visible damage, but my ankle is relatively mild even with the rupture means she wants to isolate further. The cast is meant to totally immobilize my ankle and see if something hurts less in a month.

“We can be as honest as we are ignorant. If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know.” – Robert G. Ingersoll To some, the commonest interpretation of Agnosticism places it somewhere between Atheism and various types of Theism, of which Judaeo-Christian sects, again, comprise the primary cognitive focus. But it is this very misinterpretation within the traditional lexicon which corrupts the original and intended meaning to merely represent a weaker branch of Atheism.

Well, after my MRI on Monday, I resigned myself to a waiting game while the radiologist perused the incomprehensible slices of my foot before distilling them into a written report for my esteemed podiatrist. Today, I ventured once more to my Podiatrist’s office to receive, hopefully, good news. Sadly I, like a horny teenager trapped in an nudist colony composed entirely of ponderously obese men, was destined for frustration and disappointment.

My right foot is a piece of garbage. No, really. Since my teens, every once in a while, through some mysterious transformation enacted, doubtlessly, by clamoring minions of the underworld, becomes an agony generator equaled only by the presence of my Ex. But even I admit that, after years of DDR stomping, years more of wearing Nike Frees to strengthen various muscles, evidence might indicate healing or time or even luck had rendered that particular foot “normal.