lopsided

Last week I slipped on ice. Clumsy me broke a bone in my ankle on the same foot I broke less than 4 months ago - unrelated injuries though. I hobbled around for four days on a broken ankle (thankfully I still have crutches from the last go round) and then had surgery to place a plate with screws into the two pieces for my fibula to heal correctly (no one wants a crooked fibula!). It's now been two whole days since surgery and I've ventured from my room, on the upper floor, down to the main floor, and then further down to the basement to do laundry so that I do not return to work tomorrow naked (nothing in the handbook states this - but pretty sure I could get fired for that). I used the laundry chute to drop my clothes from the second floor to the basement.

Morale of the story: after hopping on one leg, with crutches, up the first flight of stairs and then Indiana Jones-ing it over the pet gate in order to reach the second flight of stairs, my roommate casually siting on the couch asks me what's wrong with my boobs and why one looks off center.

My dear friends, help me out here - does this look like ONE BOOB IS OFF CENTER?

No. This looks like OMG-if-those-are-boobs-she-has-serious-fucking-ISSUES. I hijacked my clothes for work into the waist band of my jogging pants and covered it with my shirt in order to have my hands free to manuver the crutches up the freaking stairs. I don't look like my boobs are lopsided - I look like I have a demon spawn clawing it's way from my gut!!

No more Miller High Life for you, Mr Observative Roommate.

texts from last night

I've spent the past three hours absolutely busting my guts reading the most hilarious site yet - www.textsfromlastnight.com
After 40 pages of gut splitting laughter and several close calls of wetting myself, I decided I at least had to post these three, as they could 100% be about me, and even if you don't, I find it insanely hilarious!

**I'm always impressed by your drunken ability to quickly gauge how long it's been since you shaved and whether or not your prospective hook-up will care.
(this is ALWAYS one of the first thoughts through my mind)

** You were so trashed that when you dropped your fruit rollup on the floor you just sat next to it and cried.
(I've had next day conversations, "I cried about WHAT?!")

** Hey, sorry, I lost all my numbers, who is this?
* Pat
* Pat who?
* The guy you slept with. 
* I'm gonna need more details.
(You'd be amazed at what could be substituted for "had sex with" and how often I've actually had this similiar conversation. Of course, conversation dies quickly afterwards - but if I were really worried about it, I'd know who the fuck I was talking to.)

Cheers and good night!!
   

unfair decisions

The rotten stench attacking my senses comes from the darkness of your soul. You see nothing of it, less the mere moments where truth and dignity invite a quick glance at your destruction left behind. You blink before a tear of guilt can conjur true emotion, and when your eyes re-open, vision again returns to false reality where YOU are the only focus.  

I banished you from my life when you chose to walk from theirs; yet now you play at the part like it was meant for you. Neither of us sure whether you do more damage here or gone. That decision is not mine to make, while everyone else seems to think it is. That your son and daughter would be better without you, as the many others both before and after them, seems an obvious conclusion to all outside the show, but where is the grand scale of their magnificent decisions? Fairness plays a role in no one person's life.

memories rekindled

Staring relentlessly at the purple and green squared curtain hanging motionless from the iron hooks above.

Whispers drift inward, around and under the purple-green divider, "where is her family, no one is here for her."

Alone. Happy being so. Miserable as well. I wanted no one here. I wanted *someone* here. I get my first wish. Alone.

They will be here. I tell them. Sister dropped me off. Brother will pick me up. My family works. (But not all of them)

Groggy awakening from my drug induced stupor. My legs are floating, but I see from the mirror above that they only lie there.

Screws placed. Wound closed. Stitches tied. Batting wrapped. Plaster dried. Tingling disappeared. And still, no one is here.

This is the way I prefer it - the world at a distance. Everyone at my fingertips, held distantly away.

Still, I am sadened by the whispers; dredging up memories of a time long lost - when I urned not for solitude.

found

Out tonight
Found myself again
At the bottom of a pitcher
Downing each glass like your face was at the bottom.

I found ... nothing, but the bottom of the pitcher.

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meaningless objectivications

Sorry.
I hate that word.
Sorry.
What does it mean?
Sorry.
Does it do any good?

Stop telling me you're sorry. Stop pretending that it's true. Don't throw your bandaid over something you shouldn't have fucked up in the first place. Or the second. Or the 50th.

Heartfelt apologies only. I'm left in frustration.

Maybe I'm not making the right decision. In any case, the decision is good bye. As I told you, I cannot lose that which I never had.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

watching me

I went for a walk tonight. Snow falling gently, cool evening air freezing with each exhale. Darkness prematurely swallowing life from the city. Slick streets nearly empty yet driveways filled with the scraping of shovels.

At first I hobbled slowly; within three blocks my foot hurt a smidge from the choice of tennis shoe I put on ... the ones with the best traction aren't necessarily the most comfortable for my fat foot. (While I'd like to think that's it on the upward swing of being nearly back to normal, it remains undeniably FAT.)

My "trick" knee popping out of place, thanks to the uneven terrain and my lack of activity for nearly for months. Every three to five steps I had to pause mid stride to do the wedgie shuffle, as I've found this particular move to be the most helpful at snapping my knee back into place while standing. In this part of the city, I'm fairly positive that I appeared to be doing a solid version of the crack feind scoot -- half limping, funny jigggle every few steps, and laughing at nothing as I mentally pictured how ridiculous I looked to any outsider.

Bundled against the cold with two pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, three carefully layered shirts and an oversized hooded jacket, gloves and hat. Cozy doesn't begin to cover it. I made it just over a mile round trip and only returned home with a cold runny nose.

I scampered through the park, doing my broken foot / funky knee skip-jog combo. I laid in the fresh snow leaving snow angels nearly down to the grass. I wrote poems in fancy scrawl over sloping hillsides in side yards, leaving words of hope and inspiration as I sauntered home in dreamland. I pretended to dance with snowmen whose faces had been wind blown smooth.

It was not me out there tonight. Surely it could not have been me. Yet, who else would it have been?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone