This is one of those subjects steeped in subjectivism. Each of us will heal from different injuries (physical, psychological, etc.) at differing rates. Therefore, you might heal more quickly from a cut on the thumb than I might, owing to a variety of personal/medical differences. Those differences might mean you’ll live longer than I will, but let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised in any case. I’m just not that well, you see. I’d be a bad bet.
Anyway, I took a couple of shots to the eye a week or so ago, and here’s a little good news: You wouldn’t know it now. I love that. No one looked aghast at me, no one treated me like I was a beating victim which I had been but don’t like admitting it (in my dreams I caught the guy in a scissors move and pounded his face into cheap ground chuck, but that was just dreaming, people—I gave up almost twenty years ago on that shit).
So now I’m healing.
Now I look like I belong here, complete with foldable hat and this now-small welt under my left eye. I’m now often confused for a local, which I find hilarious. In Toronto that happens too, and I love it more there, to be honest. Here, it feels kinda creepy, to be honest.
I’ve found avatars, tho: Owls and gulls. Owl sculptures adorn rooftops throughout VB, for some reason; I’ve asked why all up and down the boulevard, but so far no definitive answers. It becomes more and more curious to me. Mary Biddinger might know, but the iconography itself is simply fascinating.
A gull visited me the day I was assaulted. This was a messenger; I just didn’t understand the message. That was all.
Anyway, the good news is I’m healing fine, and Gumboy Fuckball is nowhere to be found. G’bye. Now I should excuse myself; laundry is in progress to the great relief of people all up and down the walk even in the worst of times, so I will post again to you all shortly. Don’t be a bit surprised. I love you all, of course.