New shoes

Yeah, I know, one word: lazy. I can’t keep ignoring anymore my three-people audience’s clamor (you know who you are) so here I am again in this mean old blog.

This is going to be a more focused entry. Enough of my random ramblings. Isn’t this supposed to be a journal anyway? So. Many things have happened since my last post. Nasty world events. I won’t dwell on the horrible Haiti stuff. It’s awful on so many levels. It makes my dramas embarrassingly trivial. Poor poor people.

So let’s get to the triviality. My cast is gone. That’s major. Of course I am still screwed, but boy, does it feel nice to sleep without the heavy futhermucker on. Not that I am going to dance bhangra anytime soon. I’ve gone from the fiberglass monster to an oh so fashionable Robocop-Star-Wars-imperial-trooper-futuristic-drag-queen-platform orthopedic air boot.


Today I had my first physical therapy session. Kim will be dealing with me and my hapless foot. She seems sweet, patient and, unlike most doctors, interested in hearing how I actually feel… an almost forgotten sensation. One peculiar instruction she gave me though: I am to put on my injured ankle 20% of my weight, not more, not less. I just pretended to have a clue of what she meant. And confirmed once again that locals sometimes have a funny logic that I’ll never full grasp no matter how long I stay here. I’ll tread lightly. And pray that it’ll work.



Last but not least, not just major, but rather MAY-JAH, as Victoria would say: I am going to be an interpreter! It’s taken more than a year, an iPod full of speeches and the help and support of very very patient friends and coworkers. I did it. And I am happy and proud and dizzy. It was a remarkably long shot. But hey, I think I am a lucky person. Very lucky indeed. Except when I slip on icy surfaces. Oh well. At least I have professional help to learn to walk again on platforms. Take that Lady Gaga.