I am wounded; my foot is dead to me. That's right, worse than stepping on a land-mine, I have twisted my ankle. I was playing football, and went down on it like a ton of bricks. The same ankle I sprained a couple of months ago which wasn't fully healed. Excellent, that will only take 2 weeks to heal up.
At the moment I'm stuck in bed, as I can't move my foot in any way or even move my toes for that matter. I can only hope that tomorrow it's better or I'm going to the hosipital to complain over nothing.
It's funny that when you have a pain, you yearn for the times when you were fine, when there was no agony, but when you're fine, you don't feel any happier for not being in pain, or at least not for long if you do.
Anyway, I'll stop complaining. Actually, no, I won't, I don't have to. That's the glory of the blog. I just want my foot back, I can't do anything, the pain is making me irratable and snappy and I'm getting the urge to rip my drawers out and go Hulk on my room. It's not just the pain. I'm incapacitated, unable to do simple tasks like cooking a meal, (although I managed to cook a carbonara, hopping around the room cursing) even just going to the bathroom I have to hop, or use my chair as a makeshift crutch.
On the upside, I'll be stuck in bed all day tomorrow which gives me no excuse not to complete my work. Although, let's face it; I probably won't get my work done anyway. Such is the refined art of procrastination.
I'm going to try and sleep soon with the hope that I'll be able to limp to the gym sometime this week. Also with the hypochondriac side of me thinking my ankle is broken or I'm going to lose my foot. Excellent.
JW
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