It's Like I'm Dr. Dolittle.

Before I injured myself and doomed myself to weeks in a cast, I had been going to the gym regularly. I loved it.

While Jeremiah put my purse in the lockers every evening (I don't like lockers. Or shopping carts.), I would look out the huge windows out onto the pond with the fountain. And ducks. Lots of water birds.

And hand to my heart - on one of those evenings, I meowed.

Because sometimes I meow at home. You know, to my cats (This is normal, right?). But I did not realize in the moment that I was in public and people don't actually MEOW in public and there was a slight chance that the lady sitting in the comfy chair reading her book might hear me and think I was a little cray-cray.

Because, you know, I meowed. 

Just FYI - there is no playing it cool after that. Once you meow in public, it's best to just leave the immediate area.

Happy Friday!


It's What I Bring to the Table.

So last night after Jeremiah made me dinner, I told him he was my hero. And I was not kidding. In the past week, this man has taken two days of PTO to stay at home with me while I was not able to work AND left his job (on the other side of Phoenix) to come pick me up from my place of employment because I could not drive. That's pretty freaking awesome.

I proclaimed that he was indeed my hero and asked if he would like to hear a song about heroes. He didn't say no, which I took to mean that I could sing if I wanted to. So I did. I sang "Everybody's Got to Have a Hero", from my elementary music class text book, that was performed by my class in third grade. Sang the whole damn thing. Start to finish. Ended with over the top jazz hands (is that redundant?).

Jeremiah stared at me for a minute and then announced, "That's it. That's the shit that you bring to the table. Who wouldn't want that in their company/business/school?"

Hells yes. Impromptu dancing and singing. "It's the shit I bring to the table." I'm thinking of adding that to my resume.

p.s. I should mention that I NEVER miss work and the fact that I had to miss a few days is killing me. Killing me, Smalls.
p.p.s. Also, I just wanted to say once again how awesome my co-workers are. Seriously, I heart these people. Because not only did Jeremiah have to come get me, but one of my friends came to pick Jeremiah up at the house and drove him back to the school so he could get his car before who knows what happened to it.


Well, Crap.

Did you miss me?

Picture me asking you this, standing shyly, head hanging down in an "Awe, shucks" kind of way.

Except no.

I am not standing. Because I have effed up my foot, Friends.

Shit's messed up.

Snuffy's Disease got way out of hand.

After getting a steroid injection that allowed me to walk like a normal person (as opposed to Thug Nasty), the damn thing wore off, I overdid it, and long story short, I have ruptured both my Achilles and Plantar Fascia. Ripped those things in half. Due to the tendons or whatever not being connected anymore, my left foot is completely flat and approximately half an inch longer than the right foot.

Shoe shopping is going to be a bitch in about five weeks. Also, when I saw the size difference in the bathtub, I started laughing. That might have been because I was temporarily hopped up on pain meds, or it might have actually been funny. At the moment, I am not laughing.

My insurance will not cover an MRI to see what needs to be done until after six weeks in the cast. I have to say, I'd much rather them suck it the hell up and cover the MRI. I am terrified of not knowing. Plus, for the next five weeks, I am only allowed fifteen minutes per hour of standing. That's it. I'm not great with math, but the hour it takes to get ready in the morning is effing me up. I try to sit on the counter while I do my hair, but showering and what not? Takes longer than fifteen.

My students have been hilarious in all of this. I tell them that one of the other students (I co-teach) ran over my foot with a scooter. The boy laughs and says, "I didn't even look back! What, what!" Also, they are practicing their mathematical skills and regularly tell me how much time I have left any given hour.

Plus, the cast smells. I can wash it, but it has to air dry and I am not allowed to take it off unless I am in the shower or driving. So really, I can't wash it. I should have figured that out when the cleaning instructions had a laughing smiley face next to them. Bastards.

My specialist yesterday did an additional ultrasound and I told him that while he may just have flown back from a third world country doing missionary clinic work, the smell that would hit him when I took off the cast was death, pure death.

Lastly, I have to wear it to bed and this pains me because I wash my feet when I come in the house. I don't like dirty sheets. And now I basically have the world's filthiest and smelliest shoe thing on my new sheets. Brand freaking new. It's worse than when Mel threw up on the comforter.

Much, much worse.

I would like to add that my co-workers/friends/Jeremiah have been so awesome that it brings me to tears. Seriously, they are amazing. I was crying (out of "Ohmygosh, everyone is being so nice!" overwhelmedness) and my coworker said "Emily? Are you kidding? We LOVE you. This is what happens when you're a nice person. Other people want to help you when you're down." And then I cried even more.

It was a very Sally Fields moment. "You like me?! You really, really like me?!" And also, because deep down, I might be nice. Who knew?