I went to wisconsin for ten days and I all got was this stupid spiral fracture that, as it turns out, will take six to eight weeks to heal

Yesterday I boarded the ferry in Milwaukee and waved goodbye: to the Jeano and the AV and the P; to the farmers market challenge that resulted in potato-sweet corn chowder, panzanella with basil and juicy little tomatoes, and drunken cherry cobbler; to the impromptu cnf essay workshop; to marathon games of Donkey Kong Country; to cookouts and water slides; to beach houses and weekends in Sheboygan; to ugly handmade rabbits that we promptly renamed "Slut Bunny"; to fine, free Miller products and rosewater lemonade; to lazing around town and pizza and generally just acting for a week like tenth graders with driver's licenses and a healthy appetite for red wine.

A big shout-out must go here to the P's fiance. That man has, for the last month, had anywhere from one to three women he is not marrying flopped all over his house. The house he just moved into, with the big kitchen that we sort of commandeered and the living room that I sprawled all over. And he dealt with it with patience and good humor, and he has an arcade machine in his basement that plays basically any game you would ever want to play, even Aladdin for SNES*. He is one of the good guys.




As an added bonus, I came back from Wisconsin with not only a 1968 road map of Michigan and about a bazillion photographs but also a sprained ankle, the result of being dared to "dance a merry jig" on Saturday night. What you need to know about that fun exercise is that in an attempt to make my jig even merrier, I attempted an Irish-dancing-style kick that rolled my ankle totally inward, and then eleven women heard pop! pop! pop! and down I went. What makes this story really awesome is that I managed to totally blow out my ankle without the help of any Firefly or Spotted Cow**, though I have to say that in the minutes immediately following, I could have used a Wild Turkey. Maybe two.

The ankle swelled up like a big fat grapefruit, and I sort of hobbled around for the next few days until I could get on the ferry*** and back into my health care network. And then, this morning, I headed over to the urgent care center. I have sprained my ankle at least twice before in my life, so I knew that the fact that my foot looked like a big uggo pregnant lady's was to be expected, but something toward the front of the foot didn't feel right. And when the X-ray tech took a few shots and came back into the room, she was pushing a wheelchair. Even though I had hopped myself into the room.

That means I broke something, huh, I said.

I can't tell you anything, she said. I'm just the tech. But the wheelchair told me everything I suspected, and sure enough, then there was a flurry of talk of spiral fractures and displaced bones and then I was taken down the road to a podiatrist, who asked if I wanted the cast to be white or pink, and now I am facing down the next six to eight weeks with a left foot encased in fiberglass from the toes to the mid-calf.

Good thing I shaved my legs this morning.

So looks like walking or running or scrubbing the baseboards of the apartment with a small brush are out of the question for a few weeks. And I have to learn how to bathe myself with a sponge tied to a stick--good practice, I guess, because since I can't work out, I will also be gaining about eight hundred pounds here in my couch-ass groove. But the upside is that at least this happened after the trips to the beach but four weeks before school starts, and that the B is here to help me, and I can read and write and Photoshop and lesson plan right here on the couch. Also I feel like a character in the Baby-Sitters Club, maybe Kristy, and I will have to learn some important life lessons about ceding control and letting things get dusty and asking people for help. Bring me a collie baseball cap, and maybe a turtleneck.

On the way home, with my foot radiating a million degrees and the crutches in the backseat, the B looked over at me. I hope you learned something important, he said. Mainly that you are not a very good Irish dancer.


*not that I, like, played this or anything, and not that I enjoyed it even more than I did during the summer of 1993
**really, no animals played any part, though it would have been nice if a flock of bluebirds had helped me splint the injury a la Snow White
***but I was fast-tracked to the front of the line, and got to board ahead of everyone else, or at least third, behind two dying men in wheelchairs SO TAKE THAT