3 November 2008


My ankle was fucked and I had to get plaster. 2 weeks of plaster and I've been limping for about 2 weeks. If I thought I was doing nothing being unemployed before, being unemployed AND with plaster on my leg was REALLY doing nothing. Solitaire. Movies. Books. I went from the bed to the lounge and ocasionally getting up to go to the toilet. Argh. Hard work. I didn't even cook lunch. Marcos took over and when he was too lazy to cook lunch he just nipped on over to his parents house and picked up several days worth of delicious homemade spanish dishes. (I am waaaaay past being guilty about getting food from Ms Mum, far too tasty!)

Well one day I actually did try to make lunch, the first and last time until I was properly mobile. Our kitchen is really narrow and the space between the sink and the bench is the perfect distance to use as makeshift crutches. I started cutting some onion but I was in an awkward position so I decided to lean on the bench and swing myself around to a more frontal position, for some unfathomable reason as I was swinging myself around I held the knife I was using by its handle and pointed the sharp bit towards my person. And of course as I swung myself around I stabbed myself right in the god damn fucking thigh! It went in only about 1cm, but I felt it go in, and then the sensation of pulling it out and it was hardcore! I stabbed myself! Not a cut. a STAB! I started bleeding and Marcos came home from work minutes later to find me on the lounge, pants around my ankles, blood running down my leg and screaming the minute he walked in "I stabbed myself!" His reply WTF!? It is interesting to note that when you tell someone that you stabbed yourself their first reaction is as if you did it on purpose, like you were trying to kill yourself. The idea that you were trying to kill yourself is somehow more likely than an accidental stabbing incident. When I re-told the story, most people looked at me like I was a suicide risk when my first descriptive words of the incident were "I stabbed myself!" I soon changed it to "I ACCIDENTLY stabbed myself" and things were instantly clearer.

So due to the plaster I haven't been running for ages, I have been sitting on the lounge alot, I haven't been doing jack shit. I have been eating peanut butter & butter on toast instead of my normal healthy breakfast. I have been eating lots of lollies and chocolate that i still have left over from easter. (yes thats in April and its a little crusty but I kinda like how it makes your tongue a but furry). My doorman asked me the other day if I was pregnant, he didn't just ask it, he felt it necessary to state that I looked fatter in general and that my belly looked huge. Thanks fucker. But no. I am not pregnant. He looked a bit embaressed that i said no, but not embaressed enough to ask Marcos again when he got home, just to double check! Hijo de la gran PUTA! But interestingly, in my life, its not the first time I've been asked even though I've never been pregnant. Belly be gone! One day i will have a normal belly...one day.

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Mamacita Chilena said...

You know, the doorman had to ask Marcos just in case you really ARE pregnant but obviously not aware of the situation. Marcos, on the other hand, must have access to some inside vajayjay info that he can share with the doorman.