Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

So.

Yesterday at about 4:00pm, I had my first serious physical injury due to my Tourette's.

Anybody who knows me knows that I have a...distinct...way of walking. It often makes me, instead of simply putting my leg forward as I walk, have it do a sort of small arc out as the leg goes forward, or even a little shake-twitch before I put my foot down. I've gotten used to it. It, combined with my OCD, makes watching me bowl very funny. Take somebody who doesn't walk "properly" and combine that with their need to take the "right" number of steps, and you have a spastic stutter-stepping up to the line. If I get the number of steps right, I usually get a strike. If I don't, it's frequently a gutterball. My scorecard looks like somebody was trying to play tic-tac-toe horizontally.

Oh, right, so back to yesterday. I had just been over at the 741.59-- section of the undergraduate library, and I was starting to walk back, when I did one of my usual foot-swing-twitch things. For the first time ever, I didn't step on my foot correctly. I hear a pop/crack noise, look down to see my foot sorta sideways, and then smash the side of my torso into the lightly-carpeted floor.

A very nice young fellow was nearby and ran to see what was going on, asked if I need an ambulance, et cetera.

Being fucktarded, I said no.

So I hobbled my way back to my little "office" in the basemet of the main library (which is over a hundred yards away, up one-and-a-half flights of stairs, and through 3 doors.)

I probably should have taken the help and NOT WALKED ON MY FOOT. I get back and Kevin, one of my student workers sees me hobbling and comes over. He looks at my foot and says TAKE OFF YOUR SHOE AND SOCK NOW!

I'm all, why? What can you possibly tell just by looking at it through my sock n' shoe?

( This Is The Shape Of My Foot )

Looks like I jammed a hard-boiled egg under my skin, doesn't it? And such sexy bruising...

So, yeah, we hit the emergency room, and go through the usual "Allow us to take your information for twenty minutes while you sit in a wheelchair wondering if your foot is falling off." The triage nurses can't find the pulse in my foot, so I tell them that I forgot to put, under medical conditions, "Clinically Dead." They have a good laugh and say "Well, you sure speak well for a dead guy." I tell them it's all the brains I eat.

Finally get into a room, wait for a while, discuss that I look like a Carle Hospital Patriot, because the wheelchair has a little red flag with the name of the place on it. Eventually a nurse wheels up a port-o-x-ray machine, asking if I'm Mr. Stone and I need an x-ray.

She uncermoniously throws a lead glove at my junk and I comment that yeah, maybe I'll want a baby someday.

Five x-rays and twenty minutes later, the verdict...nothing broken, but a very severe sprain. Wrap it, stay off it until the pain subsides, stay on crutches until it can support your weight without 'em, and get out of here.

So we went off and had delicious Thai food at Siam Terrace with Kate and Staci, who actually had babysitter for their twins, so we could have an "adult" meal, with no throwing of food or shouting of "NO!" They're moving about ten blocks away from us. At Borders after dinner, we learn that Daniel and Mike are moving about 5 blocks from us.

Two of our favorite gay couples moving within walking distance? Good Thai food? ( Sara taking gentle care of my foot? )

Not the worst day ever.

benjamin
Listening to "Synchronicity II," ready to hobble downstairs