If I were to ask you what the most inconvenient time was to run tipsily towards a bus in deceptively high sandals, trip off the curb, skin one knee and twist the other ankle was, you probably wouldn’t say in the midst of helping a roommate move in and attending multiple picnics all over the city and learning all the choreography for your play.
But it’s close.
Sometimes, when I’m healthy and all my parts are working like they should and I’m just feeling lazy about going for a run or trekking down to see someone’s show or getting groceries, I think wistfully of how nice it would be to be laid up for a little while, unable to leave my couch, forced to read “Infinite Jest” all day and eat Ben & Jerry’s Frozen Yogurt. It’s a lot less fun when it actually happens, and you do need to get groceries even injured so you go with a crutch in one hand and try not to get anything too heavy and really you have work to do so couch time is about trying not to wince while the frozen peas on your ankle slowly thaw and drip onto your futon as you research descriptions of executive directors and you shouldn’t drink that glass of wine because you just took two ibuprofen but all you want is a little bit of Merlot. Oh and you wanted to run today because you ate about a pound of meat at those barbecues and a run would make you feel less disgusting plus what if you degenerate out of the fitness level you’re at now?
And then there’s the question–it’s just a twist, do I wrap it and use a crutch and have people stare at me like I’m Tiny Tim on the El, only to look disapproving when I pick up the crutch and pad up the stairs unaided because really it’s much quicker and it doesn’t hurt THAT much anyway? It will heal faster if I take care, I think, but then there’s all of the “Oh my God what did you DOs” that I’ll have to answer and the response will go from “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad, I just tripped in the street” to “I’M AN IDIOT IS WHAT I DID SO STOP MAKING A BIG DEAL ABOUT IT” when the question gets asked the 30th time.
I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep, and elevate it, and take ibuprofen (and not drink wine), and ice it, and try to be kind to it and sing it lullabies and hold in little exclamations and “Ohs!” when I walk so people don’t wonder if I’m crazy. And one day it will be back below the size of a cantaloupe and I’ll run a 5k and everything will be hunky-dory.
But right now, the Time Warp’s going to be trouble.