my nightly w(h)ine

A few days ago, I went to see a foot doctor for some heel pain I’ve been experiencing over the past week. After miscellaneous foot prodding and compressing and a couple of x-rays later, the doc informed me it was a stress fracture. So for the next four weeks, I’ll be sporting a strap-on – cast, that is. Like a cross between Darth Vader and a motocross racer, my right foot, up to my knee, is now a well-cushioned and stabilized six-million dollar man foot. Cast in place, I wasn’t prepared for how much it was going to slow me down. I have to stay off it as much as possible, which means taking Muni to most places I’d rather walk. When I do walk, I saunter. And if I see the train or bus coming, I can’t run to it. I hobble. As I boarded the bus outside the doctor’s office, however, he was kind enough to lower the steps to the ground for me. I felt old.

Later in the afternoon, I went to see my eye doc for a new prescription. My near-sightedness has gotten progressively worse over the past year and I desperately needed new…bifocals. At the end of my yearly exam, he always dilates my eyes and yesterday was no different. BUT, in years past, I walked home after the exam. This year, I had to bus it. Ugh. I was able to catch the N Judah fairly quickly, but had problems getting me and das boot up the stairs and into the waiting train. As my eyesight was getting fuzzier and fuzzier from the dilation, my foot starting to throb more than ever, I finally made it home. I gimped upstairs, turned on my computer and realized I could barely see any written word. I fired up the DVD player, I couldn’t see the screen. So I poured myself a glass of Bordeaux, downed that and went to bed at 7:30.

The next thing I know, I woke up and looked at my clock – 5:40. Knowing it was going to take extra time to get me to the office, I got up, grabbed my robe and limped downstairs towards the shower. My vision was still fuzzy, but was hoping a nice hot shower would help. My housemate was up early, I thought. He’s not a morning person. When I got down to the kitchen to turn on the hot water for coffee, the digital clock on the microwave read 8:20. WHAT? I went to check out the bathroom clock – 9:20. (I never changed that clock since Daylight Savings ended. I don’t know why.)  It was still night and most San Franciscans were still up, probably watching must-see TV or checking out Amazon for the best price on a 42″ flat screen.

I hobbled back upstairs, poured myself another glass of wine, read some fuzzy email, and crawled back into bed.


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