Waking Up With Dead Hands Was the Best Writing Opportunity of My Life

Introducing The Walking Diaries

A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night unable to feel my hands. They had become nothing but limp stumps attached to my forearms for no purpose it seemed other than adornment.

It startled me because I’m not used to waking up in such a state. Luckily my brain was still in control of my motor skills, so I began clenching my fingers into fists and opening them up really fast — hoping that this would circulate the trapped blood into other more important parts of my body, thus allowing my hands to become hands again.

There I was, half asleep, sitting straight up in bed, pumping my fingers to save my life, hyperventilating a little and wondering how the fuck I allowed my health to slip so far down the priority list.

Of course, the issue could have been my inability to sleep like a normal human adult. You see, I tend to slumber either with my arms stretched far above my head or on my belly — the entire weight of my body resting ever so happily atop my arms.

In other words, when I say, “Oh, I slept like a baby last night,” I really mean it.

However, my sleeping arrangement was not on my mind as I madly tried to retrieve the use of my hands at 3 a.m.

As is always the case, I assumed that I was coming down with some sort of devastating disease. I couldn’t begin to guess what that disease might be because doctors have told me ever since the dawn of the internet to stop Googling would-be disease symptoms.

The problem is, at the moment, I have no doctor to consult with. Due to all the healthcare cuts we’re seeing here in Alberta, many doctors (and who can blame them) are leaving the cities for greener pastures. This state of affairs has left me without a family doctor. If I want to see a doctor, I can look forward to a six-hour wait in a dingy walk-in clinic and when finally seeing one, them blaming whatever ailment I’ve come to talk to them about on my weight — which in their defence is in the overweight category.

So rather than going down that demoralizing rabbit hole, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.

Literally.

I vowed then and there as I sat upon my bed, scrunching my fingies and silently willing my blood to begin running through my veins as God intended, that I’d start taking better care of myself.

I’d lose weight, eat healthier and just generally be a better person. Maybe not the former — we’ll see how it goes.

Except, I find it challenging to stick with anything at all when it comes to maintaining a healthy lifestyle. I tend to live my life as one big joke until I wake up one early morning, unable to feel my hands while a tiny internal voice screams, “DIABETES! You’ve gone and done it and given yourself Type 2 Diabetes!”

I will, however, do just about anything for a good story, so I figured the chore of daily exercise could indeed go hand in hand with my work.

Here enters The Walking Diaries.

I wanted to name it the Walkman Diaries, but I wasn’t sure about licensing. Also, I thought it might not be PC to call it “Walkman,” so I considered The Walkperson Diaries, but that’s just a mouthful. So here we are with the less exciting albeit safer on so many levels, The Walking Diaries.

Things you will not find in The Walking Diaries:

— Weekly weigh-ins where I admonish or praise the scale’s reading

— Healthy recipes

— Life tips

— A positive attitude towards most things in general

— Hacks of any kind (except maybe, how to hack into someone’s yard when you see a cute dog on the other side of the fence.)

Things you will find in The Walking Diaries:

— Humorous observations that I come across while walking each day

— Probably cute pics of my dog

— Stories about random things I think about while doing the hero’s work of walking all the places

— All stories will be under a 4ish minute read (probably shorter)

— Vaguely offensive commentary. As seen in this introduction

As many of you know, I live solely off of your constant praise and laughter. So if this thing doesn’t pan out and nobody reads it, I will obviously quit walking/exercising, thus reverting to an unhealthy grease monster.

Eventually, my hands will probably fall off due to them continuously losing circulation at odd hours in the night.

Then who would write weird and remotely entertaining stories for you?

Not me, I can tell you that much.

So really, what I’m trying to say is, the future state of my ongoing health and career as a writer depends on you people.

Please, act accordingly.