Grrrouchy

Man, I’m grouch to day like I have a badger bit down on my ass. Too much time already off the bike with too much time off the bike looming ahead of me. The first day or two on the meds after the crash were bearable. I pretty much slept a weekend away. Sure, peeling my underwear off of my ass cheek wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my first Father’s Day, but at least I got in some winks without burning valuable spouse capital.

Now it’s starting to get into the meat of the shitty recovery time. At best I’ll be back in the saddle by this weekend. I’ll still be feeling like ground chuck and have the mobility of a beached whale, but fuck, at least I’ll be out there. Hopefully I’ll be unsnagging scabs from Lycra instead of mopping up wound ooze from the bib shorts. Fun fucking fun.

It’s amazing how a little change in the schedule can make me a grump. I should just change my name to Oscar and move into a garbage can. I don’t know if idiots can sense when I’m in these moods, or if I notice the idiocy more, but I have dealt with more fucking morons lately than I care to think about.

Blah, blah blah. Poor fucking me. As soon as I can bend down enough to put on a sock and shoe, I’m outta here on a ride.