Today is a bad day. I didn’t sleep, because for some reason, the ankle was absolutely killing me all night – even through the painkillers! And it was unbearably hot in our bedroom, despite the AC blowing full blast. I’ve never been in a cast before, and I’ve never had ankle surgery before, so I don’t know if this is normal – my ankle’s last hurrah before giving in to healing – like “OK, bitch. I see you’re going to heal whether or not I want to, so I’m going to give you one last night of agony before I surrender” or what, but damn!
I also discovered I don’t like this cast. It’s itchy, and I’m having a hard time imagining what will happen when it’s removed next week. Showering is a pain in the ass, but at least we got me a little stool on which I sit while taking a shower. But I can’t help but wonder just how disgusting my leg is under the cast. It’s got to be dirty, and since I’m not shaving it, I’m wondering if I’ve basically started growing gorilla hair under that cast. Also, it’s gotta stink in there, right? All these thoughts are running through my head as I await the moment they cut away my cast next Thursday.
Will the cast guy pass out from the stench?
Will they have to wear MOPP gear just to remove it?
Will the doctor get this horrible look on his face, like “OMG! What the hell kind of petri dish of hellish bacteria has been growing in there?”
How much leg hair can possibly grow inside a cast in two weeks?
I’m not sure I want to know. I just know this sucks.
I was so bored the other day, I ran across “Batman Returns” – the one with Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman that inspired thousands of gay men’s Halloween costumes. I watched it in Spanish. I don’t know Spanish.
Last night I tried to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games in Rio.
What. The. Fuck.
It made me remember why I haven’t watched the games in decades. Weird performance art. Prerequisite lecturing on global warming from a country that couldn’t even clean the sewage, dead animals, and body parts out of its waters before the Olympic Games, prompting a warning for athletes to keep their mouths closed when competing on Brazil’s beaches.
Plus, knowing how corrupt the IOC is, coupled with the doping scandals, I’m over the whole Olympic Games thing.
This morning, after failing to fall back asleep, it for some reason occurred to me that I had never seen a single episode of Sex and the City. I have no idea why I felt like I needed to remedy this, but HBO had Season 6 available On Demand. I fell asleep somewhere during episode 2, and woke up during episode 12 with that Sarah Jessica Parker character kissing Mikhail Baryshnikov.
It was slightly surreal.
Baryshnikov was definitely on my list – you know, that list of celebrities you have in your head whom you would hit like the hammer of an angry god? Yeah, that one. The legendary Baryshnikov was on that one. Was.
But you know what? Nope. Nope. Nopity Nope! Something about seeing him make out with horse face was so unappealing, that I had to take a Zofran just to get over it.
So no more Sex and the City.
Special Victims Unit reruns and dog snuggles will have to do.