All About the Ankle
I'm mostly recovered from surgery now. I'm back to working full days, and I traded in the plaster-and-Ace-bandage cast for a neon orange fiberglass one. It's made out of the same kind of cloth and catalyst that you use to patch holes in cars when you do body work, which is vaguely pleasing to me, since I was in for a bit of body work myself. I'll get a scar, but I think scars are the sign of a life well-lived, so that's a fair deal.
Still can't drive or put weight on it, though, and the crutches are a royal pain in the ass. The walking boot can't come soon enough.
They were glad to get me back at work. Apparently, it takes three people to do my job when I'm out, and even then they don't do a particularly good job of it. I wasn't entirely glad to go back. I kind of enjoyed not being there, and I'm still looking hard for something else.
I got a little bit of writing done while I was out. It's still hard, though. I feel like I'm murdering my ideas when I write them down, since even a very good page never measures up to the perfect Platonic ideal that's floating around in my head.
Still can't drive or put weight on it, though, and the crutches are a royal pain in the ass. The walking boot can't come soon enough.
They were glad to get me back at work. Apparently, it takes three people to do my job when I'm out, and even then they don't do a particularly good job of it. I wasn't entirely glad to go back. I kind of enjoyed not being there, and I'm still looking hard for something else.
I got a little bit of writing done while I was out. It's still hard, though. I feel like I'm murdering my ideas when I write them down, since even a very good page never measures up to the perfect Platonic ideal that's floating around in my head.