I'd rather be fat than be confused

I have cankles. Well, more specifically, I have one cankle. A grotesque basketball injury has left my lankle a purpley, sausagey mass. It has joined my foot and calf together in perfect harmony. Purpley and Sausagy, live together in perfect harmony. Side by side on my body, keyboard solo - why don't we?

At any rate, I was almost completely immobile on Wednesday and missed work. But these past couple of days, I toughed it out. Toughed it out, despite the fact that I'm lacking in some essential necessities for this type of injury (cue list) . . .

A farmboy to fetch me things - printouts, drinks, lunch, etc. But no, not to ultimately bed.

A chamberpot.

A chair that rides the rails (handrails) like in Gremlins. (But then doesn't subsequently skyrocket me off said handrails to my fiery death due to Gremlin tomfoolery).

Crutches? Perhaps, but the pain of using them probably outweighs the pain of the cankle.

Blinkers - so I can turn on my flashers and people can pass me while I'm walking around slowly. It hurts to hurry.

I don't need a footstool. I found one and propped Gimpy up on it in an attempt to keep some of the fluid from draining down there. I think that's what it does, besides making me look like a total jackass. Stay tuned for possible cankle glamour shots!