It is early May. The heat is just beginning to rise in this oven called South Texas. I sat, waiting for my bus, feeling very much as if the gigantic star we orbit was not billions of miles away but perhaps instead parked just above the earth's surface, casting hot, cancer-death-rays down onto us little tiny ants.
You'd think it's hyperbole, but that's what it felt like.
The heat, however, was a minor distraction in the realm of my personal discomfort. Let's rewind about 2 minutes prior, when I was walking down the sidewalk, listening to Sam & Ruby, idly bobbing my head to their soothing tones, when all the sudden I was hurtling forward at speeds which confound the laws of gravity, my face headed squarely and immediately towards the asphalt in front of me. I dropped forward and miraculously landed on one knee, but the propulsion of my fall was still pushing me forward and downward, so somehow my backpack ended up flipping over me, landing in front of my head and yet still attached to my torso. My forehead miraculously stopped millimeters before the pavement. I scrambled to re-compose myself (quite a difficult task) and noticed that luckily only one other person had witnessed my spill. I thought about killing him to remove all living evidence of what had transpired but then he asked if I was okay, so I felt bad about contemplating his demise.
I assessed the damage.
Head: Okay
Hands: Okay
Knees: One okay, the other, "OWWWWW!"
Ankles: One okay, the other, "FUCCCCCK!"
I limped to the bus stop to wait for my ride. The bus takes me to my car, which I might add is a standard transmission. My clutch-ankle, now mangled and bruised, certainly wasn't tremendously keen about being called into service so soon after an injury in the line of duty. Yet, somehow I managed to get home without barreling through traffic, avoiding stop lights and signs (to avoid applying the clutch, of course).
So now I'm at home nursing my wounded pride with ice cold beer and my wounded ankle with, well, ice cold ice.
I just want to take this moment to note that the motherfucker who is using some loud, gas-powered, WHIRRING machine of NOISE downstairs can kindly go die in a fire. Thank you, that is all.
Ahem, anyway... I believe my ankle is sprained and if that is the case, it'll be the third time in the past 2 years that this particular ankle has been sprained, and the fourth time overall. You'd think I was doing it on purpose, but let me just put that thought to rest because I am NOT that much of a masochist, thank-you-very-much. The great thing about a sprained ankle is that there is practically nothing that modern medicine can do about it. We can filter toxins out of your blood, we can bombard you with radiation to kill cancer, hell, we can even keep someone with HIV alive and healthy for decades ("Magic" is an appropriate name for you, Mr. Johnson!), but one thing we JUST CAN'T FIX is a sprained ankle. I'm on my own. Don't get me wrong, the miracles of modern medicine are great and the medical problems aforementioned are quite a bit more important than a sprained ankle, but c'mon... It's also the least complicated thing on the list.
So, I will probably get my ankle wrapped and return home with some ibuprofin (dammit, I never get the good drugs!) and a prescription for ice and elevation. Whee.
The best part is I have no idea why or how I fell. The best I can guess is that I somehow thought the sidewalk had a handicap accessible ramp in that particular spot (which, if I keep spraining this damn ankle, I may actually NEED at some point in the future), but that ramp was a little further down. So perhaps my foot came down expecting a far drop, and when there wasn't one, it was SHOCKED into propelling me off the sidewalk instead of simply fucking LANDING on the GROUND like it's supposed to. I think my ankle doth conspire against me.
At any rate, the boyfriend is at work, so I'm flying solo. Trying to cook lunch and nurse a wounded ankle are not fun. I opted for frozen pizza (thin crust, though the crust just about never comes out quite right) and copious amounts of beer. What? It's five o'clock somewhere!
No comments:
Post a Comment