Aug. 12th, 2011

square_root_of_pi: creepy club (Default)
You know what is awesome about a sprained ankle? Nothing.

I sprained my ankle last week while walking down some stairs at work. (Before anyone starts to scream WORKER'S COMP, wait a moment and read the next sentence.) I decided it wasn't terribly bad and decided the best medicine would be to walk it off.

So for almost a week, I tried walking off a sprained ankle. At my best, I mastered a hustling pimp walk. At my worst, it was a challenge to walk five paces without tearing up. At one point, I thought I broke my ankle, it hurt so much.

You know what happens when you try to walk off a sprained ankle? It gets worse.

This past week has been a lesson in understanding. I generally have an obscenely high pain threshold, but this sprain has pushed me to a point where all I wanted to do was cry and yell at every person I saw.

I understand a bit more why hurt animals are more likely to try to cut a bitch instead of whimper and hold their hurt paw out pitifully for help.

I've been stuck in bed for the past two days, following the R.I.C.E. (Rest Ice Compression Elevation) method of treatment.

I should be walking like a healthy boss by Monday.

Still bed rest sucks. I am at home, which means I see so many things that need to be done (laundry, dishes, tutus made and fairy wings bent into shape) but I can't because those require standing.

On the plus side, the only good thing to come out of having a sprained ankle is my to read pile is diminishing and my writing pile is growing in size.

Moral of the story? If I want to finish this novel, I need to break my legs.


square_root_of_pi: creepy club (Default)

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