Thanksgiving itself was pretty good. Much better than last year when a former co-worker of my ex turned up at the same dinner and proceeded to spend the evening asking me about my ex and his new sweet young thaing spouse and her daughter. (Like I freakin' care? Hell, at that point, I didn't even know what their last name was and hadn't a clue what her daughter's first name was!) Happily, this year we had dinner with some of our oldest and dearest friends who provided great food and plenty of levity. A lovely contrast!
Friday, Vlad and I escaped the shopping hoards of Black Friday to watch the Zombie hoards chase our heroes and heroines in Zombieland.
Anyway, I was fine until Saturday, when I discovered I only had $24 in my checking account to last until next Friday. So I decided to throw myself a major pity party. (Apologies for the total downer post on Saturday... I couldn't help myself.)
Late Saturday night I started cheering myself up by fleshing out my "Let's Go to Prison for Retirement" plan. (Getting back to my usual irreverent brand of humor.) And boy, have I gotten a lot of great suggestions for how to make that work! I can taste that prison food on my tongue already. Sure hope they have Dr Pepper at the prison store to wash it all down with. (Or maybe Quirky could bake a couple of cans into a cake for me when she comes to visit.) But I have yet to reconcile myself to the fact that there's no beer in prison... that might be a deal breaker.
Which brings us up to Sunday. Considering I still have to work until I come up with the perfect victimless crime, I decided to do a little planning for the wee ones. Which meant going up into the scary attic to look for some supplies. And there was some great swag to be found up there. All sorts of gems in the costume department, fabulous picture books galore, great fabric for making tents and my army surplus parachute for who knows what. I'd hit the Pre-Kindergarten mother lode! So, I loaded up my arms with as much booty as I could carry and started down the attic stairs.
That's when a book slipped from atop the pile and planted itself beneath my feet. At which point I fell to my knees on the steps, hurtling forward until I slammed my head against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
Now I'm convinced my house is trying to kill me!
Now I'm convinced my house is trying to kill me!
Okay! Okay! So it wasn't really the house's fault, but in my present mood, I was ready to blame anyone or anything, including the four year old imps who provided the reason to go to the attic in the first place. Thank the goddess Vlad was home for the weekend and heard the crash and thud. And for once I actually threw off the mantle of the Midwest Martyr and said, "Take me to the Emergency Room". (The fact that my head was bleeding and my pupils were varying sizes kinda sealed that deal.)
But let's not get too carried away. I had Vlad drop me at the ER door and sent him on his merry way to study for the afternoon. I'd be "fine... just fine" by myself. Poor Vlad... later I found out he thought I was mad at him for tripping over the shit on the stairs... he thought it was his shit I tripped over. In all fairness, it's the house that's evil... and to be honest, we both contributed to the detritus placed there.
Of course, if you're going to go to the ER, I suggest going on the Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving. By that time all the people who got food poisoning from undercooked turkey or stabbed in the hand by their cousin because they were trying to take the last dinner roll have all been discharged. I've gotta say I was a little disappointed, though, when I wasn't greeted by these guys....
No dishy Doug Ross or Peter Benton to hold my hand while I got a CT scan of my head and multiple x-rays of my knee? I feel so cheated. I would have settled for Neela or Abby, (both hot chicks.) Even NGIP got to meet Anthony Edwards earlier this fall and she didn't have a head injury or anything. No fair!
The good news is I have no brain bleed, but I'm supposed to take it easy for a couple of days... and have someone check in with me every four hours to make sure I'm lucid. Since I live alone, I'll just have to set my alarm clock and wake myself up... I can always write the questions I need to ask myself on a post-it note next to the bed.
The bad news is I have an avulsion fracture on my knee... don't know if it's new or a remnant from when I tore my ACL and MCL about five years ago. They sent me home with another "immobilizer" and crutches... then it's back to see the orthopedist later in the week. Oh joy, oh rapture! (But, seriously... do you think this immobilizer makes my leg look fat?)
Yes, that's a pizza box next to my foot... since I was incapacitated Vlad went on a pizza run so I wouldn't starve.
Looking at the sunny side... maybe this will prompt them to do something to alleviate the chronic pain I have in my knee. Maybe my house isn't trying to kill me after all... maybe it's just trying to tell me something.