But come on. Seriously. Do any of you know how hard it is to suddenly trade a useful limb for a huge unwieldy pain-transmitter? I've never had a broken bone in my life. And I'm thirty. At this late hour: "Hey, learn how to use crutches, sissy boy. Oh, while you're at it -- somehow keep up with the full-time school and full-time job and all the other shit that was kicking your ass before -- good luck, sucker. har har har..."

My whole life, I've prided myself on being independent. In my more stubborn moments, I've sometimes took the route that was 6,7,8 times more difficult than the one that would require asking for help -- I mean, I've sweated, burned, bled, and frozen in the past rather than ask for help from someone I'd rather not.

But, as this was the first day I had to exist with a cast (actually a splint -- this thing is huge, it comes up past my knee), I decided to go out to a late movie. Everything else I would have liked to do was taken off the list because I was unsure of my ability to drive a car, and hesitant to get out in traffic to find out. Hell, I was hesitant to find out how I could get down the stairs to get outside.

Well, not very easily is the answer to that one. I did get to the movie, I even brought ice cream at the place downstairs from the theatre, because I was late for the original show I'd seen, and noticing my gracefulness the girl selling tickets suggested the later show. The ice cream experience was quite educational, as well. How much can one carry, when using crutches? I'm sure this may come as a shock to any who have not tried it, but the answer is NOTHING. Christ.

The long and short of this is that for the foreseeable future, my independence is a thing of the past. Take the problem of food, for instance. I can't carry anything -- can't go shopping. Can't keep food in my room -- so even if I get someone to go shopping for me, how would I get food from the kitchen up here? I suppose I might eat in the kitchen -- except how could I cook? Microwave meals, I suppose.

Going out for dinner clearly not a reliable option -- though I can drive, what with the still-tender ankle, I'm thinking that should be an as-little-as-possible-thing.

And you know, though I realize how uncool it is to bitch about such things, I just gotta say -- right about now, it really pisses me off that I don't have a girlfriend. At least then, the person I'm forced to be around because I need help would be someone whose company I would normally keep anyway.

And you see, we've learned after all this time to recognize the patterns of our particular sickness. Getting lonely and morose about being alone are the first symptoms of when I begin to slip into apathy and despair...

One way that works, and any unable to relate may find this amusing: I know that I am above average in looks. I don't just mean decent-looking, as honestly as I can tell I seem to be a full-on hottie. Plus, I have a great sense of humor, am genuinely honest and kind, and can even hold quite interesting conversations...

Yet, my predominant state is "single", and those relationships I have had have been relatively fleeting. So one begins to wonder -- I possess all these traits which clearly seem in demand ... and yet I'm still alone. Somewhat like being a quarter-million dollar sports car on a lot for dirt cheap -- and never being bought.

Eh. To be totally honest, it's not nor usually has it been that I have absolutely no choice in this matter. There may be women who I could clearly have a relationship with -- but most of them I have no desire to. So we see how this line of thought leads nicely into depression -- I don't want those who want me, those I want don't want me -- and most importantly, it seems some unquantifiable aspect of my personality that creates that last part, because initial physical attraction abounds.

And now I'm a gimp. I need to get my life back together, and now I can't walk. Can't get food for myself. Have no idea how I'm going to shower. Ooh, sponge-baths -- what fun.