Funny how when I was littler a sprained ankle meant more attention and lots more fun, swinging around on crutches and respite from the humiliation that was gym class.
Nowadays tho, a thirty-five year old man who happens to drive a stick-shift car is stuck waiting for me to drive him around, has trouble getting up stairs, to work, lying down in bed.
My sex life got torn in two with a certain fateful ligament at the precise moment where my dumbass boyfriend jogged to first base on a lameass ground ball that should'n't've meant anything aside from another out and the changing of innings.
I have a few things to say abotu softball, nonuvem printable in any format.
I do have pretty red t-shirts for tomorrow's onstage singalong.
I do have an immobile, invalid, whining man reading Callahan's crosstime saloon amongst the fresh crimson sheets on my bed. I didn't have time to put the usual black ones on since he called in a panic halfway through laundry duty., I swear...
Tomorrow we have a presentation for the first GemAthlon competition, then I'm taking him to the Queen E for X-rays, having cajoled my mom into producing a referral, letting me run off with my old crutches and ace bandage.
New experiences and all that, hunh? Well as of tonight we've got: helping him walk, fetching him water, makin' him a sammidge and updating my diary with him ten feet behind me.
Wot an evening.
Oh yeah, and I spent three hours with my mom and the decibels stayed reasonable.
Relatively. I'm still not going to medical school or thinking of my future by dating a divorced man with two kids.
I'm twenty four, and thoroughly enjoying this, with strangely misshapen ankle, crotchetty boyfriend, and big old day at the office tomorrow.
And we might trade cars so that I can drive his home for him... Should be interesting.
Right now I really gotta pee, and I'm tiiiiiired....
So goodnight, good morning, and hey, remind me to never wonder if I'm bored. :)