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This has been a strange week. If you know me, you know that I am an amputee, but I don't seek out the company of other amputees any more than I seek out the company of other left handers. This week, I made the mistake of visiting a website for similarly afflicted Asymmetrical Americans. I posted on their bulletin board, and almost immediately got an email from the most bizarre person I have ever had contact with. His name was George, and he wanted to know all about what life was like as a handicapped child. It wasn't just a passing interest. He is a 76 year old man who has dreamed since childhood of being an amputee. His dream was more of an obsession, and nine years ago he achieved his fantasy by taking a shotgun and blowing off his leg. "Life for me since the amputation has been nothing short of beatitude....I am free and resident in my body" he said. This was so outrageous that I had to verify it. I did a Yahoo search with his name and sure enough, I got a hit. A fetish site published his story and included two scans from tabloid stories about him. I ordinarily discount anything printed in a tabloid, but George himself had confirmed every word of it in the three emails I have gotten from him so far. I had to share this story with someone, so I emailed my friend Mark. Maybe I shouldn't have. He was very disturbed by it. After a few emails, he told me that this story had consumed all his waking thoughts. He just couldn't believe that anyone would mutilate himself in such a way. He wanted to cling to the idea that George had been tormented by unbearable pain in his leg, which could only be assuaged by amputation. But no. George simply wanted to be special in some way. He now lurks in the amputee websites, offering guidance and support to others. He has found a place for himself. Yesterday, he addressed a group of physical therapy students at a local school. I think it's probably all he has. On a more banal note: for weeks I have been planning to declare a war on junk. I live in a huge Victorian house that I bought on impulse nine years ago, and for years have been both restoring it and stuffing it with every piece of junk that I would have thrown away if I lived in a smaller home. Less than half of the house has been restored, and we have gotten to the point that every un-restored room has been filled with junk, mostly books. I told Janice that when I die, my books should be donated to the public library. They'll fill an entire wing, which could be called the A.D.D. wing. It's amusing to see how many strange diversions I've passed through over the years, all of them researched through the purchase of books. Well, the war on junk started in ernest. I threw out three large garbage cans of junk, plus boxes and old electronics, last garbage day. Already, I have those three garbage cans filled and waiting for the next garbage day... plus lots of junk that won't fit in the cans. I'm keeping the books! The house has become a biohazard with all that junk. You can't clean it, so it gathers dust and mildew and dead roaches. You wouldn't believe how much better the house looks already. There's still much to do. When I'm done, I'll get back to my restoration work and finish my library. * Archives |