You wimps

You get to enjoy my semi-drunk ravings tonight because I'm trying to beat back the pain of a dislocated left ankle. I was trying to be SuperHomeo(wner) and eat weeds around the perimeeter of the yard. Hopped over the fence with the Weed-Eater to get some weeds on the other side, stepped the wrong way on a large rock left over from getting a new well drilled a year or two ago, and dislocated my ankle. It popped back into place when I hit the ground face-first (it's funny how soft the ground seems when you want to stop falling), but that didn't stop the damage.

Penny was napping in the house but came out to find out why the hell I was yelling her name from the yard -- she initially thought I was calling her name in her dream, rather than my nightmare -- and helped me into the house. Within about ten minutes my ankle looked like someone slit the skin and stuff a Nerf football up in there.

That was yesterday. Some convenient painkillers and anti-inflammatories later (never throw away old prescriptions, folks, no matter what the drug industry tells you) and I could at least sleep some. Penny went off and got an Ace bandage, and I think things are OK. No major damage, and I can sort of walk on it and definitely drive with it.

Don't try that at home, kids. It hurts like fucking hell.

Speaking of fucking, Penny is off in California this evening. Yet another business thing. Mary is not yet back from her vacation, so I have essentially no one but the cats to talk to. Am I tempted to call up old dates and see who's around? Shit, no! I can barely move, let alone run the risk of some bimbo kicking me in the ankle in the heat of passion (for which I'd have to sucker-punch her, and that leads to all sorts of unpleasantries).

I am home playing with computers and brushing the cats.

I've been through this before. Sprained the other ankle about ten years ago, ice skating, but I worked it and that ankle is far stronger than before. Hopefully the same will occur here.

And no, I didn't fucking go to the emergency room. A dislocation that reduces itself isn't an "emergency," but I'd sure as shit cause a few "emergencies" if I was forced to sit in some damn ER with screaming brats for five or six hours only to have some non-English-speaking internist tell me, "your ankle was dislocated, but now it's not." If I needed the prescriptions, I might have considered it, but I have plenty, thanks, and as long as the vodka and tequila hold out, I don't even really need the pills.

ERs are for whiners.