Well I was wrong. Horrible wrong. Dreadfully wrong. I'm so sorry, baby. Can you ever forgive me? I won't do it again, I promise...

Yes, of course the focking ankle still screams at movement. Fine. But in addition, the leg that's still functional whines like a little bitch at having been called for double duty these past couple weeks -- and far, far worse, my hands and wrists are killing me. Typing is really something a little less than fun at the moment.

While crutches may well be fantastic devices that allow movement to the otherwise stationary human, they also slowly morph into excruciating torture devices.

"Ha HAH! You wanna move? Feel the pain, sucker! This ain't no free ride!"

And adding insult to injury (as life must always do): What with the pain and akwardness insuring that we move some 3-4 times slower than normal, playing catchup with schoolwork and work has made this past week hella fun.

For my acting class, we've an assignment now that is a daily journal ... wherein each day we are supposed to take a few moments to reflect on a "sensual" experience ... opening up our awareness to the world around us, and experiencing.

Well, guess what, pretentious acting instructor? I HAVE A BROKEN ANKLE. If you REALLY want a recording of my sensual experiences, it would read something like this:

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Oh, and Ow.

Really.