Lame

Oh, I'm so clever and ironic sometimes. Good thing I've at least got that, cuz everything else is going downward rather quickly this week.

First it was the black death, which is still lingering. It was a terrible flu, one that kept me chained to my bed for a few days. And I'm not sure if it was the meds or the plague itself, but it turned my mind to mush. That whole looking-for-oven-baking-goods-in-fridge episode was not the only of its kind that week. In fact, I do believe I set a new record for most ridiculously stupid things done in one week, especially if you count all the walls I walked into.

But this week holds new treasures! I've torn up my ankle, and have a luxurious boot thing and a pair of haute crutches to prove it. As if this elegant fashion statement was not enough, I've developed some lovely shaded bruises under my arms and on the palms of my hands from those damned crutches. Never one to let a mass of unsightly aluminum and velcro bog down my style, I've decided the bruises really go well with all the lavender toned spring fashions this season. I'll just match them to my eye shadow. Very hot (with only a slight possibility that I may look like I got punched in the arms AND eyes).

How, you ask, did I do this? Hmmmm...well, let me think. Oh yes, I was defending a friend's honor in a bar fight with 50 bikers, and I totally kicked their asses. All I got was a few small ligament tears and a nasty sprain, but you should have seen those guys. Yes, that's how it happened.

The most unfortunate part about my disabled status is that I just got over being incapacitated for a week. I was going stir-crazy stuck in my house. I never thought I'd say this, but I got reaaally sick of watching movies. I was ready to get back out there and face the world, and catch up on a million things, like a clean house and clean laundry, for example. Perhaps my over-zealousness is the real injury culprit.

Now, I can't do anything. My house is still a disaster, and I have no clean clothes. That's ok, since I can barely dress myself anyway. All the little things are extremely difficult, and it's driving me crazy!

Though, I have picked up a few tricks with these things. I've learned to only eat foods in the fridge that are already in containers. That way, I can hobble to the fridge, pull out a container and throw it over to the table, all food intact, then hobble over to the table to eat (you know, since you use your hands to move the crutches, you can't carry anything?). I've got a water bottled filled too, so I can just roll it into the next room if I'd like a nice cold...martini...while I'm icing my ankle on the couch. And, best of all, I've figured out how to use the crutches like hands, picking up items and hucking them to their new destinations. Ah, pathetic really, I feel like an awkward and disabled robot, like whats his name--Johnny 5?

Anyhow, it's rather painful and frustrating, given last week and all. But I think I'll be in for a somewhat quick heal. That means, I'm having my pity party now, so send cookies and cards filled with cash while you can. I mean, if there is one thing crutches are good for (and it's not lookin' hot), they elicit a great amount of pity. I had table-side service at the coffee shop this a.m., with doors opened and seats given up. No cash yet, though, still working on that, since I haven't figured out an ingenious way to carry around a tin cup full of coins without dropping it.

Wooden crutches? This guy must have some serious bruises. Where is that St. Paul when you need him? (Is it just me, or do his thigh muscles look extremely toned for someone who can't used his legs?)