The old knee injury* is acting up again. This happens once a year or so, mostly because I refuse to have any sort of surgery or therapy requiring needles or an intensive or even moderate workout routine. It’s usually triggered by humidity or seasonal changes and lasts a few weeks. Sometimes I can walk on it, sometimes not.
This morning, it decided to give me its best giant grapefruit impersonation. I have to say it’s pretty close. I won’t go into the gory medical details on why that happens (think, communication breakdown between the bones, ligaments and muscles), but it’s got me pretty laid up. I had to cancel a writing date and a shower. Poor Alex (no, it wasn’t a shower date, just poor Alex because he has to live with an unshowered, gimpy, demanding wife).
Don’t let me stop you from the outpouring of sympathy gifts you are undoubtedly planning, but you should know that it’s really not so bad. Turns out this bad-knee-laid-up-on-the-couch thing is actually a boon for my writing. I’m on fire today (well no, not literally on fire – that’s the one thing that would get me to make an unplanned doctor visit) with the new book. Hours and hours of tap-tap-typing, ideas, scenes, yeah! I could get used to this. I have everything I need, right here on the couch:
- Laptop: check
- Pillows to elevate aforementioned grapefruit-knee: check
- Unlimited supply of coffee: check
- (Plus Bailey’s, if we’re being honest): *hiccup* check
- Brick of chocolate, perforated for easy breaking: check
- (Plus giant spoonful of natural peanut butter, if we’re being honest): check
- 2 new Brandi Carlile CDs, downloaded into iTunes: check
Really the only thing missing is a foot rub (hint hint, favorite husband, I’m looking at you).
The moral of the story is, yeah, I’m laid up for a little while, but my 100 hours goal doesn’t seem so far-fetched now!
*The old knee injury: In 1992, after an all-night road trip from Chicago to Buffalo with my BFF and her family, I went to school a complete zombie, still in road-trippy boxer shorts and sweatshirt. I was late, of course, running up the cement stairs (whose bright idea? anyway…) to my locker. In my state of exhaustion, I somehow missed the top step and, like in the cartoons, hung for what felt like a full minute, suspended in mid-air, before crashing down on my knee (I was more concerned about not spilling my precious coffee, which is why my hands didn’t fly out to save me). I kind of went into shock. Next thing I know, I’m standing at my locker and my locker neighbor is pointing to my mangled, sideways kneecap. “Uhm, you should maybe go to the nurse.” Ultimately, I was home on crutches with a contusion, a torn meniscus, and a 10-a-day Advil regimen which rendered me 100% immune to those little brown pills after about a month.