And, yes, I realise I may be jumping the gun saying this on the 2nd. But I have decided. For unless gorgeous men wearing nothing but body glitter descend from the heavens handing me several tons of exquisitely cut diamonds and ownership rights for every coffee plantation in the world there is little chance of this month redeeming itself.
*checks sky* No? Ok then.
So, work is still up to my eyeballs so I have been hurrying. hurry hurry hurry. But one place you don’t hurry is on stone/tile/whatever floors while wearing slick dress shoes (honestly – is there a reason why dress shoes can’t have a decent tread to them?). And even more importantly, do not do said hurrying on stone/tile/whatever floors wearing slick dress shoes at the top of a very tall flight of stairs.
There follows an, admittedly, extremely rapid descent of said staircase, however time spent on the descent was then lost by the laying on my back swearing loudly. That is not a productive use of my time.
It is even more a waste of my time when i try to get up and body declares “oh hell no, that’s not happening!” Ankle and wrist particularly wish it to be known that they are not happy with the situation and are making their not happiness clear in no uncertain terms.
Then the first aider swooped in. you know they’re a first aider because they get to poke you and ask “does this hurt” you say “Yes it bloody does!” and then they do it AGAIN! And you’re NOT ALLOWED to slap them! It hurt the previous 4 times you tried to move my wrist and ankle, why do you have to go in for a 5th attempt? Do you think I’m lying or something?
Then they drag me to a hospital that takes aeons of time, all the while I am swearing at body parts that don’t like me any more and muttering because all of me feels like I just fell down a… oh wait. Anyway the nice doctor comes around and he keeps poking me as well but I try not to slap him for he is CUTE and cute doctors are Allowed. He did keep making lawyer jokes about me suing people though, however in the waiting room I thought of 4 good innuendos and at least 8 porn plots involving me suing him so, hey, I suppose that worked out ok (this is your brain on endorphins kiddies).
Apparently I have broken my left wrist. This is… inconvenient and vexing. No amount of bullying would convince the doctor that my wrist was magically unbroken, nor would he believe that I was simply too busy to have a broken wrist and could we instead schedule it for some time next month. Doctors are unreasonable, yes yes they are. My ankle, however, is just sprained. Whatever that means. Exactly what is a sprain? Is sprain a medical term for “hurts like medieval torture?” because it hurts a damn site more than the wrist. Hobbling around on it is possible but apparently unadvised.
But it does mean I’ve lost most of the damn day. I couldn’t even do paperwork in the waiting room. which means the “up to my eyes in work” situation has now reached critical levels. I didn’t need sleep anyway.
I did get to see Senior Partner nearly explode when he realised another one of his peons would be unavailable – and his intense relief when I declared that i appeared to be still functional. Exploding Senior Partners are funny. Yes yes they are.
And no, I’m not suing anyone. I can’t sue my own feet for tripping over themselves, I can’t sue myself for wearing silly shoes, I can’t sue myself for hurrying at the top of a stair case with my hands full. It is galling in the extreme to find you have no-one to blame for your misfortune than your own fool self (give me a week, I’ll have it all blamed on Beloved). I own my own mistakes – though I will whine about them.
Lots of whining. Oh yes.