Thursday, September 18, 2008

This Little Piggy Is Broken


I've hurt myself. Last weekend I worked in the garden getting ready for the city's scheduled Neighborhood Clean-up. I capitalize this because it's a big deal to have the city come pick up all the crap you need to get rid of. There is a cottage industry in trading junk and selling this cleaned-up, rehabbed junk to the trendy little used furniture stores scattered around the city. Folks in pick-up trucks cruise the area scheduled for junk removal looking for anything old and/or maybe broken that can be fixed and used or sold or traded. I suspect this cruising for cast-off crap will intensify as the economy gets worse. I'm thinking anyone with a car that gets parked on the street without a lock on the gas-cap will soon be finding the tank emptied over night.

Anyway, while working to get all the tree limbs and big trimmings, the digging up of unwanted volunteer trees, then dragging them to the curb, I acquired some gnarly bruises and a couple of puncture wounds which now have turned almost black.

Then there was the pot luck party that was a send off of one of the sons of the Ventura family who lived next door to me when I was a kid. Those boys used to spy on me when I was in nude sunbathing mode (I think I was sixteen). I was enough older than they were, that in their minds it was Maggy they now think they were spying on. (oh how I ramble on). Anyway, this now middle aged man is getting ready to move to Barcelona, where his lovely wife and three dogs and two cats now await. It was a fairly large neighborhood party. And for the first time in a long time I have nice though used duds that fit to wear to a party. So dressed in my new nice casual, I take my freshly baked peach cobbler and off I go.

It was lovely, but sometime in the evening I got a small cut that bled like crazy--it's the coumadin, so I was bleeding on my nice new clothes. I decided to quietly leave, walk across the street to find a bandage.

I keep bandages, hydrogen Peroxide, and other first aid remedies under the bathroom sink. So while squatting on the balls of my feet, rummaging through the mess that is that compartment looking for a bandage, when the rug I was standing on slipped out from under my feet and down I went, hard on the tailbone and lower back. But the worst of it was what happened to my arm. The back of my upper arm came down hard on the toilet seat. Really hard. That didn't break my arm, but I do now look like I have an abusive husband.

Then, the next evening I was typing away here at my desk, when the phone started ringing. It was in the evening, in the late part of the news hours. No one calls me them. I'm on the "Do Not Call List. I capitalize that because I think it's supposed to mean something. The base of my phone is a short roll away when I am sitting on my typing chair. If the phone isn't in its cradle, it's on my bed. I turned and hurried to try to locate the phone in the mess that is my bed. And in so hurrying, broke the little toe on my left foot. It is the third time since early spring that I have broken this particular toe, but it is the worst, most painful break so far, and I am on Coumadin, and the bruise and swelling, not to mention the pain, is heinous.

8 comments:

DCup said...

Oh my! You poor thing. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. And no more nude sunbathing? That's a shame. I mean, who needs tan lines?

Feel better. Do I need to come out and nurse you? You know I will.

Utah Savage said...

Yes, now that you mention it you do. Please. I need you far more than Mathman and Cupcake and The Actor or The Dancer. And I need me some cornbread to go with the cantaloupe I bought yesterday. Soon none of us will be able to afford fruit of any kind. So eat it if you got it.

Non, Je ne regrette rien said...

man those are heinous! doubt that it will make you feel any better, but I too am a clumsy oaf and have borne a variety of colorful symbols since my arrival here. one of my biggest fears is I am going to fall down my charmingly dangerous French staircase and be found decomposing weeks later.

sigh. ice those babies, won't you?

Randal Graves said...

Yikes, those are some funky wounds. I wouldn't say they look like "abusive husband" but more like "exploding flintlock pistol."

Ice, ice baby. Ding ding ding didididing. (I think I did that right).

Rest up, and have your neighbors lug the recyclable soon-to-be-hipster crap to the curb next time.

Freida Bee said...

Ow. (Kissing them.) I hope you feel better soon and that your bruises look worse than they feel. Are you familiar with Arnica cream? It's pretty good stuff.

Dusty said...

Jesus H Christ...you must look divine in the nude woman. ;p

Liquid said...

I am shoving clothing and scarfs into my Louie Vitton bag..........as I type this with one hand.

Oh Dear Lord, I am on my way!!!!

Like it or not!

:)-

Liquid said...

And YES, here in the south it is "Louie", not "Louis" Vitton!

*wink*