2.16.00 - 20:52:25
Since I've last written I've made two decisions, read two books and sprained one ankle.
The decisions are good ones. Apply to the University of Chicago for my Masters and stay in Chicago for the duration. The books were good ones, "Medea" and "Goa Freaks: My Hippie Years in India". But will you hear about these things? No! You are subjected to the following instead. Trust me, explanations of my decisions and evaluations of the books would be dry and lifeless. Rather, you get a glimpse into what I call, FULL DORK.
Be happy you aren't me.
I sprained my ankle on my way to work this morning. Not only did I look the fool doing it, I felt the fool explaining to the four kids who immediately surrounded me, asking breathlessly, "Are you okay, lady?" that I was, indeed okay, while getting up none too gracefully. And again, I was most definitely the fool explaining to my new boss over the phone that I think I'd like to work from home today.
"You fell?"
"Yeah, I sorta sprained my ankle." Why I revealed this next part, I'll never know. "And I tore my pants."
Ignoring the part about my pants, he asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just have to ice it for awhile. Hey, I'm thinking I'll just work from home today. I have the laptop here and the Shiva card. I can dial in. I'll just leave my pager number on voicemail in case anyone needs to reach me. I tore my pants." WHY did I say that again?
He fails to mention my pants, a second time, "What, were you walking downstairs? Was it icy? How did you fall?"
"Well, I don't know exactly, um, the asphalt sorta slopes towards the street and I, ah, fell. And tore my pants." OH, as if he needed to hear about my PANTS again.
"Well sure. No problem. Take it easy."
So naturally, I responded with, "Okay, thanks. I tore my pants and I haven't done my laundry yet and well, um, ah, you know, I don't have a lot of clothes…" WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING? STOP ME! "Yeah, and, well, it would take me awhile to get down to the laundry room, with this ankle and all and…" SWEET JESUS! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! "I'll just stay here and, um, work from here."
"Sure," He seems bewildered now, "I said no problem."
"Okayseeyoutomorrowbye."
CLICK
Will somebody please explain to me why I just can't call work and say, "Hey, I hurt myself and I'm working from home" and leave it at that? Why on EARTH was I telling him about my pants? While they were, in fact, torn and I did, in fact, have laundry to do, did my BOSS need to know this? I have a LUMP the size of an EGG on my ANKLE! Is that not ENOUGH?
Apparently, for a dork, no.
