moms ranting, crutch pockets, lonely ducks
Ankle worse. It is still not how I always pictured a sprained ankle (instantly swelling, can't put weight on it) but it felt okay while wrapped and elevated and now I walk on it and it hurts like fuck. I re-wrapped it and got out the crutches. Grrrr. Hate crutches, but it's better than limping.
Was thinking more about yesterday on the playground park bench with s.'s mom and how most of our "gossip" was odd abstract stuff about altruism vs. selfishness, corporate greed, power, and novel-writing. Now that's gossip!
Then in the morning her written article rolls off her powerhouse assemblyline and is hot and smoking in my inbox:
Corporations do have, at their helm, some highly paid humans who must beI love how I never know if it's going to be an essay about social involvement in community, or a kid's story, or the latest installment of the novel. Going to her house is the same way, we loaf about, 'gossip' in this vein, and watch kids run riot. It's like if Michael Moore were your mom and would make you pancakes. Very pleasant.
either kept in check by the law, or by their own consciences, which ever
Anyone who ever needs crutches, I have another genius-like invention (that will someday make me exactly ONE MILLION DOLLARS): crutch pockets. They are so handy! Mine are made of a small thin box cut in half and firmly duct taped to the part of the crutch below the handle. One is wide enough for a large coffee with lid, the other fits a book. Someone should take this idea and make it in sturdy plastic and market it to disabled. I love that company who makes "Quickie" walkers and chairs - next, cool crutches.
Going to class is going to be annoying. Will be treated like brave crippled girl. When actually, am whining, non-brave, wuss that injures self while walking on paved flat pathway. Being treated like brave crippled girl is actually embarrassing, guilt-inducing; no one really deserves such pitying admiration. Maybe it's irritating because plenty of people endure pain and suffering that is invisible; like, no one gets any pat on the head for coming to class when they have terrible hemorrhoids, though they are plenty brave and determined and plucky and uncomplaining. This is so unfair! Or maybe it's just me; no matter how bad my injury, I suspect myself of faking it on some fundamental level, and so any pity feels worse than undeserved.
One more random thought:
j.c. was telling me last night at the game that at the animal shelter where g. works, the ducklings actually die of loneliness if there's only one duckling. If there's more than one duck at the shelter all is well. To get the lone ducklings to eat, they put a mirror in the cage and a feather duster, and the duckling cuddles up against the feathers and stares in the mirror without moving all day. L., perhaps you could wear a feather boa and yellow socks, and become a professional 'duck socializer'?