Saturday's Storyteller: "Personally, I'd prefer getting run over by a motorcycle."
by Belinda Roddie Personally, I'd prefer getting run over by a motorcycle. Or a regular bicycle. Or anything on wheels, really, instead of this. I hate this. I hate it with more than just the clichéd fiery passion. I hate it with a passion heated over the stove, simmered in molten lava, and dipped in spicy cream sauce and served to a lactose intolerant, mild-tongued individual. I can't even pay attention to the TV, I'm in so much pain. I can't even stand up from the couch. I have to be helped from the cushions like they're lifting an animal, sloshed into a wheelchair, and pushed around. My legs are immobile from the knees down, and the painkillers aren't helping me much. That's what happens after two tremendous surgeries. My mom tries to make me feel better with my favorite soup and my favorite hot drink and my favorite ice cream (which happen to be baked potato and cheddar, hot chocolate, and pistachio, by the way). But the food's only a temporar