Low Class Joint

I'm sitting here looking at my right  knee, and trying to bring myself to hate it.  To hate it enough to discard it and replace it with another. It doesn't look so bad at present, with  minimal if any swelling.   The knee does have a half-inch long white scar a little to the left of center, but the knee did nothing to cause that; it did shear off the AC knob of an old Pontiac years ago when said vehicle smashed into another car while accelerating, but the scar has long since healed.  The early warning sign that trouble lay ahead first appeared in the fall of 2004.  I was walking a long sidewalk into a school and heard a clicking noise, and thought I had a stone lodged in the sole of my boot.  But no, it turned out to be the sound of one bone rebounding on another with none of the youthful elixir called synovial fluid left to cushion them.  Together we've trod a long and winding downhill path since then, the knee and I.   It has failed to support me on many occasions since that long ago autumn day, so I am willing myself to believe that parting ways is the best thing to do.    I have heard  such separations are very painful, so I'm still considering the split.   As a well known advice columnist used to counsel:  Before you make the decision to go your separate ways, ask if you are better off with or without the other party.