So, here's what happened.
Well, not all of it. I don't feel like talking about the Thanksgiving divorce or the lonely Christmas or the creepy spinster attic apartment or the hours spent learning how to decoupage, which are the root reasons I haven't been blogging. You just do not need to know all of that. It's possible I lived on little else but tea and honey and Kleenex and Brandie Carlisle songs for over a month, and it's not something I'm proud of.
But I do feel the need to at least make an attempt at explaining why I have completely neglected everything writing-related, including but certainly not limited to this blog. So what I will tell you is that, back in April, I pretended to be Superman. That isn't to say that I jumped into a phone booth and popped out wearing tights and a save-the-world expression. No. What I did was, I attempted to run. Tripped. And sailed into the air like I knew how to fly.
What I didn't know how to do was land, so I came down full-force on my right knee, on a floor that is nothing more than thin carpet over concrete. And of course, being the super-sharp thumbtack that I am, I hopped right back up and kept running. It wasn't until twenty minutes later, cutting my pantleg up the seam to reveal a right knee roughly the size and color of a rotten cantaloupe that I realized: Crap.
Seven weeks, one surgery, one obnoxious knee immobilizing brace, and the development and frequent employment of a colorful vocabulary later, I still can't do a straight leg raise, or, more importantly, kick people. And, boy, oh boy, are there people I would like to kick. Namely, myself, for forgetting that I am not graceful enough to run, for any reason, ever.
My weirdo friends keep asking to see the photos, so I'm going to share them.Warning: the link you are about to click on is extremely gross!
WARNING: Here be yucky-looking kneecaps!
That's where we are now -- seven weeks post-injury, four weeks post-op, and scheduled for a second MRI and an EMG to figure out why I still can't perform a straight leg raise -- or, as I've mentioned, kick people.
So that's what happened. And between surgery, recovery, and having to move out of my now-inaccessible creepy spinster attic apartment, I haven't been writing a whole lot. But I have collected all sorts of medical terms and unsettling hospital observations and weird nurse characterizations and colorful sailor vocabulary to use when I do get back to it!
Also, here's a completely unrelated classified ad (cue innocent hum):
WANTED: Someone I don't like. Your job duties would consist of standing in front of me until my right leg remembers how to kick. Volunteer position, no pay. Would look kick-ass on a resume. ;)
