a post about what you do when you are under house arrest (i mean, bed rest)

+ totally geek out over making a schedule for the fall semester. Am I the only one that does this? I just love schedules. And I see several things in that schedule that I am very excited about -- i.e. jewelry & metalsmithing elective, magazine article writing class (cha-ching...I mean, hopefully, assuming someone wants to hire me at all), spinning classes, writing workshops downtown, and -- wait for it -- gymnastics. Yes, once upon a time I was a member of the Syracuse University gymnastics team, but then I got injured again and again and again and again (recurring theme, obviously), and I sort of gave up, which is lame, but now I am a little embarrassed to admit that the Olympics have totally inspired me all over again. And so yes, I may never get to do the things I used to again, but who knows, maybe I'll get close. I just have to learn that, no, I can't pull that "all-or-nothing" crap anymore, because that is immature and there will be setbacks and I will just have to grow a pair and deal with it.

of course this is all after my foot heals...

...what was I talking about again?

+ have Simba, bless his soul, get on my last nerve. Okay, I understand it's my fault for not walking him and leaving him confined to this shoebox of an apartment, but I have a broken foot, so what do I do? Well, if you're me, you walk around for an hour in your aircast and grit your teeth in pain, because Simba is your child and the children come first (unless you're my mother). At least now he seems to be sleeping until the end of time (just kidding -- he just woke up and is currently humping my elephant stuffed animal, George).

+ pull a Mulan on my hair while on pain meds. I really don't want to talk about it. Hair grows back fast, right?

+ have the best omelette of my life this morning.

+ am about to limp my way to Barnes & Noble to have some iced coffee and find a good book (or ten) to read because I can't stand staying in this shoebox for much longer (I feel you, Simba).

le metatarsals

{this title is not as fancy as it sounds. It's just bones. You'll see in a sec, unless I've already lost you, which I admit is entirely possible}

have you ever had a bad slice of cake? I'm quite sure you have. To me, bad cake is stale, dry as a scab, and tastes like pickles (ew) and avocado (double ew, and what's worse, it gives me a good stomachache).

so what is it about bad cake, you ask?

well, last night, I got the cherry on top of a very shitty summer cake. My foot is broken.

{well, that was melodramatic, wasn't it?}

my thoughts so far:

+ what is your deal, fourth and fifth metatarsals? Why do I keep breaking you? What did I do to you? Stupid little bones. Always so frisky. This is not the first time, and unfortunately I suspect that it will not be the last.

+ sketchy Chinese foot rub massage places cannot cure broken bones. Instead, they will cause your foot to swell to grotesque proportions (and also, they will make you $18 dollars poorer, plus tip). What you need here, my friend, is an actual doctor -- one that can prescribe real pain medication. Oh, and put you in a cast and such.

+ speaking of medication, it is utterly useless if you work 10-hour days as I do. You see, the use of narcotics is generally disapproved of in the office setting.

+ is there a more terrible place than New York City for a broken foot? I do not think so. Although, people did offer me a seat on the subway, which I always thought would make me feel special, but instead, I just felt embarrassed and awkward. This is how I suspect I will feel at my wedding.

+ crutches? In the city? Forget it. If I've had trouble crutching it in suburbia before, New York City is simply out of the question. An aircast it is, then.

+ I feel like a ginormous asshole (almost as big as the ass attached to my actual legs and lower back) because I am now unable to take Simba out on his walks.

+ if God is out there, I would like for him to allow me to catch a break. Seriously. It's been a nonstop streak of terribleness all summer. Pity party over. Amen.