IN SICKNESS AND IN HELL....

If you didn't want to hear this story, blame Ling, coz her comment in the last post forced a lot of questions so its easier to just tell it. If nothing else, its worth a laugh at my expense. The truth is, yes, I have been reduced to hobbling around on crutches. Why? Because I am an idiot, and because whoever made steps, and high-heeled shoes, are idiots too. To cut a long story short, Thursday night, stepped out to go grab a cab and land strangely on a step. My high-heeled clad, well, heel, buckles under me, landing in what I imagine is a position it did not like. It. Hurt. Bad. Was pretty much seeing stars, moons, lightning flashes and Pete came to the rescue, whisking me off to the A&E where we had to wait THREE hours. Eventually got in to the doctor (what a WASTE of a night), and thankfully, nothing was fractured, but its a bad sprain, which means not being able to stand, walk or move around very much... And my foot looks completely weird because its double the size. And blue. This is not very fashionable. Thankfully, the swirley office chairs that Pete made a couple of months ago are coming in amazingly useful.... Instead of inflicting major arm-strain, I've been rolling all over the house haha. He's been very good about making sure there's enough Coke Lite and food thats been cooked and stuff, so that he can guiltlessly go to work, and he's been doing just about everything I could possibly ask for. Very sweet. Plus, got prescribed drugs that are making this whole ordeal somewhat bearable (understatement: The Jackson Five have been playing "live" at the foot of my bed at night... ) Still, I (and, surely, he) can't wait for this dang thing to heal. It's completely getting in the way of everything, including my social life. In.The.Week.Of.The.Crucial.Matches. Argh. I hope I'm up and walking for the semis so I don't end up having to watch it at home with a glass of milk in my hand, sigh. On a happier note, our "pantry" is FINALLY ready. In the absense of us being able to make me a walk-in wardrobe, Pete's converted half the storeroom into a little walk-in larder cum wine cellar... It's really cool, and it means being able to everything from diced tomatoes to baked beans at a glance, heh. Now, all I have to do is get on my feet so I can put the dang things on the shelves... Ps: Is anyone getting slightly disturbed at the thought of a domesticated me... Besides, er, me? Art