Guilt by association?

Stolen from my old “twin friend“. Well, not really stolen, since I’m supposed to pass the joint.

“Puff, puff, give”, right?

  1. Reply with your name (even moderate strangers can do so, as long as I’ve seen your name around here before) and I will write something about you.
  2. I will tell you what song[s] remind me of you.
  3. Next, I will tell you who you remind me of, celebrity/animated or otherwise.
  4. Last, i will try to name a single word that best describes you.

*shrug*. Something to try.

(What was said about me can be found here.)

I blame the Mary J references on Javid, Hillary, and a certain gardener who enjoyed inciting the munchies for his own nefarious purposes.

Murder mystery parties are surprisingly fun. Javid—who authored the script—did very, very well, and I had fun being a lesbian lover (with a woman whose name is also Melissa) and a sneaky, suspicious spy.

And now with a serving of cheese.

You ever wish so very hard that something is all in your head, induced by the power of suggestion and an over-active imagination?

That’s me today, and tonight. I don’t like what my foot is doing, I don’t like how it feels when I take a step, and I don’t want to get out of my chair to go to class, and work, and the cafeteria, and goddamn meetings that have me walking all over campus.

I ditched the crutches last night when faced with the task of walking from the basement of our library across campus to my dorm room after a long day of class and work and the prospect of a night of homework and studying. My hands and arms and upper torso are nastily bruised because I don’t have the upper-body strength to correctly use the crutches long enough to get where I need to go, which usually includes either taking the longest fucking route possible to get from one academic building to the one across the quad or navigating multiple sets of stairs if I choose to take the direct outdoor route.

I want to go in for my X-Ray Friday and have them tell me it’s all in my head. Tell me it’s psychosomatic. That the nasty blood pooling that just started last night upon bandage removal (and is continuing today) is due to Javid telling me about his experience with his unknowingly-splintered tibia rather than a real complication of my situation. That it really should feel exactly the same as it did four days ago because nothing has changed.

I would rather have this be stress and lack-of-sleep-induced drama and my too-real phobia of broken bones than something more serious than a strain or stress fracture (not that stress fractures aren’t serious, by any means, but there are degrees), something that will land me with those fucking crutches for longer than the eleven hours I spent with them yesterday.

I am upset. I am tired. I am panicky. I am whiny. I hurt, and perhaps worse, I am uncomfortable in that twitchy, restless, unfocused, too-warm/too-cold/too-everything way that makes for incessant movement and a definite lack of relaxation.

But I am also busy, so I shall cut this short.

I also need to tinkle. Damned bodily functions… so inconvenient.

Suffice it to say that my grim determination to get through this with a big grin and a friendly wave of the crutch has flown (“fleed”?) fled for the moment.

Edit: Hannah wins. I consider myself officially smacked; I’m a dirty bum for not trying harder to get the damn crutches to work, but I’m trying one more time.

Who’s yo’ cripple?

I’m yo’ cripple.

Went to the Rose doc today on account of the foot nastiness, and he said, “We’re taking the weight off.” Whether it’s ligamental, a stress fracture, or a full fracture, taking the weight off is probably a sound idea. So I have crutches. (Whoa, buddy you can build up dangerous momentum with those things, and corners are eViL.)

I have a referral to get an X-Ray, but my father—and, subsequently, I—is/am/are between medical insurances with the new job, so I have to find out how much that’ll run me out-of-pocket. Grr.

No running, no walking, no biking. Just upper-body weight-lifting, if I’m so inclined. Can’t say I am, but this will be further incentive to eat better.

Better yet, I have crutches during what is rapidly becoming a rainletting with a biblical scale in duration. I can so see myself wiping out if I’m not careful near building entrances…

Meal-acquiring also gets difficult, but I can be a bum and ask the cafeteria workers to carry my tray, I think.

The logistics of this are fascinating, though. Elevators instead of wet stairs? I think so-o-o. How much longer will it take me to get to class? Etc.

It’s probably best to have as much fun as possible with these things. Take an extra-strength Tylenol and ask folks to sign my Ace bandage. Whee.

Edit: Fuck upper-body workouts: my arms (and stomach) are dead from crossing our tiny-ass campus thrice to get to my two classes. I don’t think I was this icky-sweaty just from moving around even at my heaviest in the dead of summer. I’mma sit on my ass for the duration of this crutch-thing.

It’s funny, though, because people are so quick with the sympathy, and I have to explain that it’s really not that bad, it’s just a preventative measure until we know more, no I didn’t kick anyone, etc. It makes for good conversation, but it’s really not that bad; the pain is easily managed (better than those damn headaches).

The “preventative measure” has made things about five times more annoying, of course, and despite Luke‘s patient help today, I think I’ll be skipping as many meals as I can get away with for the remainder of the week, because it is simply ridiculous to have to depend on someone else to gather my food and drinks and carry my tray and get everything to a table and get everything from the table and dispose of my trash. And if I don’t eat or drink something I had them get, I feel like I wasted their time in having them get it, and it’s all way too much trouble.

We’ll see how this week goes. There’s a party planned for Friday night that I will be attending, courtesy of Javid and Co., plus standard chill time with Dr. 7 and Luke this weekend, so I have something to look forward to. Now if I can just find a way to make it to class and work on time without killing myself, which is doubly difficult since I was perpetually late to most of my classes before break when I could haul ass across campus…

Better than New Year’s Resolutions. Or is it?

I was looking back at my New Year’s resolutions of last year. I cannot currently run 10-minute miles for a half-hour (le sigh). If I study more or stress more about schoolwork, I’d probably need to be locked the hell up. So there’s one success. Post-undergrad thoughts are still up in the air, but I’m looking at some specific things; no internship yet, so there’s another non-complete. Doing and done the creative writing thing. So there’s two. I shed those thirty-plus pounds. Three. Johnny is dead. *shrug* Didn’t take up a martial art, but I have learned a hell of a lot about self-defense.

I’ve been following Mr. T‘s progress on his 101 in 1001 goal. The idea is to complete 101 specific, unambiguous, work-inducing tasks in 1001 days. I apparently don’t do so well with lists (see above), but we’ll see if even just forcibly listing some things reminds me that I want to do them.

The hard part about coming up with this list is calculating on what date 1001 days from now falls. Horrible, horrible math. Looks like October 1, 2007 (post graduation!), though, according to time and

Okay, I’m a lying bum. The hard part is coming up with 101 reasonable things to do in two and three-quarters years. Took me a week.

I’ll update this post as I make complete things, and I’ve got a WordPress category for it should I feel inclined to ramble about individual items.

Ready, set, go.

Number complete: 19

Continue reading Better than New Year’s Resolutions. Or is it?