I know it probably won’t work, but I’m signing up for surgery.

I’ve combined advil and tylenol. I’ve done the physical therapy, the braces and the weird shots of sugar and bacteria — or spun out particles of my own blood.

Left knee got better. Right knee got worse.

Went to see the surgeon.

“Your chances are 50/50,” he said.  “You have a torn meniscus, but you also have arthritis and who knows if this surgery will work.

The pain is coming from the wrong place, so it may not help at all.  But you’re a big boy, you know that…”

With that body shaming, micro-aggression, boost of confidence, I signed up for surgery as fast as I could.

I just gotta do something.

Sitting on my ass and driving the car, makes my knee hurt.  Sitting at my desk with my legs bent, makes my knee hurt.  Sleep too long on one side, makes my knee hurts.

A co-worker told me this story:

“We were all sitting in the conference room and watched you get out of your car,” he said.  “You looked at that woman on the scooter with such envy.”

And they laughed and laughed at my deadly sin.

That’s right god damn it.  I was struggling to get upright with my sore knee which led to a sore back and barely able to reach my cane in the other seat. At that second a woman went  buzzing by in a motorized wheelchair with this big fucking smile on her face.  Shit that thing was fast.

I just wanted to push her ass out of that chair and take that thing from her.  But there was no way I was ever going to catch her.

Envy died after a few steps.  Yeah I may be a little sore now, but it’s still better than being wheel-chair bound. But if the Bear ever dragged me to Walmart, I’m grabbing one of those motorized carts and terrorizing everyone in that fucking place.

Part of me feels guilty for whinning about this little problem.  Compared to all the shit other people put up with this is small ball. But that’s what this bullshit blog is for — venting over every first-world problem and bitching about what you fuckers have done to me now.

So if the surgeon said waving a stick and saying “oooga booga, ooga, booga” would help, I’d start whittling one in his office.

Like Rocky in his corner, I’m saying “cut me, doc, cut me.” And let’s hope for once the 50/50 coin flip falls in my direction.