"Bring in the gimp."

Yu-huh. If you haven't figured it out from the title yet, I sprained my ankle last night. Again. This time, I did it standing up. Standing up, for Christ's sake. My foot fell asleep and when I got up, it got all twisty. You know, there are lots of things I do on a sorta-monthly basis that I wouldn't mind in the least making a habit out of, but wrenching my ankle until it swells to the size of a softball? Yeah, let's not do that again, 'kay, foot? Sheesh.

Tomorrow, maybe I'll just try whacking my head repeatedly with a shovel. At least that won't sound half as stupid as "I was getting out of a chair, and my foot said, 'No, Mommy, I don't wanna go to school today.'" Maaaaan ...

Why I'm stupid

My ankle is now twice the size it normally is. It's bruised, it's swollen, and just for fun, whenever I put any weight on it, I'm going, "Ow, ow, ow," with every bloody step. (No, it's not bleeding. I'm just so pissy I'm pretending I'm British. Humor the sicko, 'kay?)

Yet I'm not going to the emergency room.

Why not? You'd think I would, considering it's not like this is the first time I've hurt my ankle. Walking on my right ankle is like trying to get a toddler to drink a glass of liquified maggots -- just when you think you've got it convinced everything is fine, it takes one look at the blender, lets loose with a girly scream, and runs off in tears looking for its binky, never to trust you or your proffered beverages again.

(Note: I have never offered my ankle a beverage. Jello, yes. Frosty beverages, no. And no, you're not allowed to ask.)

I don't like hospitals.

It's not fear. Frankly, the only thing I'm afraid of is that they'll catch me sneaking into the morgue to look at the dead people. (Note: Hey! I said you're not allowed to ask! That means with everything!) I just don't like waiting, and having to sit in a wheelchair, and waiting, and nobody letting me see any fun injuries, and waiting. Did I mention the waiting? Last time I went, I was there for four hours for what I could have told them was a seriously twisted ankle.

Screw it. I can stay at home and hang out on LJ and wait for free.

Woohoo!

Just found my aircast! *user does dance of joy* It took me forever and a day, but I found it. Now I don't have to even think about emergency rooms. *user squeals happily*

(And fallofrain, I know what you're thinking. I've been to the emergency room for this stupid ankle three times since I twisted it the first time and every damn time, it's been aircast-and-ice. So I just saved us both a trip. ;))

Hark! I see the writer's group approaching, and they brought margaritas!

Hee. First it was alchemywizardry. Now it's wenchamok.

My writer's group is invading LJ. Ladies and gentlemen, hide your hot guys, stash any liquor you might want to keep, and for God's sake, don't piss anybody off unless you want to be smacked around with a frozen trout.

Now all I have to do is convince the rest of them to get over here, and I'll be good.

*giggles* Hi, I'm an LJ pusher. C'mon, all the kids are doin' it. "Doctor, I don't know what to do. My wife keeps cackling maniacally and rambling about Mary Sues and cut codes ..."

What do you mean, I'm insane? But the voices keep saying I'm fine ...