Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Day 360 - fractious

I haven't posted for a while (yet again), and I must admit that (due to deadlines) I was on the verge of skipping another day among many, until I received a very sweet message from an equally sweet friend. He expressed his disappointment, as a fellow blogger, at the lack of updates this month - especially as I was at home for most of it and subsequently doing lots of physio and 'training'. This, alongside the realisation that I've somehow reached Day 360, motivated me to give myself enough time amidst essays to blog tonight. I won't, however, give you much of an update - not because I haven't had all sorts of exciting experiences in the remainder of this April - rather because I've got so many important topics clamouring for attention in my brain that I know I won't do them justice if I write them now, jostling as they are with final essays.

The air I'm breathing at the moment, as I approach the first anniversary of my mission (if not quite this blog), has been feeling crackly - crackly with tension, anticipation, fear and joy - as though its individual and usually disparate particles were about to collide and cause a great deal of havoc. Unspecified havoc, neither particularly positive nor particularly negative, but havoc nonetheless. It's fractious - hence the title today. That, though, is a double entendre (albeit one without any raunchy connotations) because I was right - there was havoc brewing.

On Friday, I had a little outing to A&E, with a very sore ankle - and it soon became clear, following a couple of xrays, that I had a hairline fracture (see the titular pun now?). How this came about is hilarious (at least to someone with my wry and twisted sense of humour) because it had nothing whatsoever to do with me. It would appear that not only can I, being a (currently) non-ambulant girl, procure 'runner's injuries' and the afflictions of a 'marching soldier' as I have in the past; I can also fracture my ankle by someone else lifting it up in exactly the same way that they always do.

Since I'm fine, comfortable, and can still stand for transfers, the only possible response is to laugh. We have no idea when it happened and the only treatment is a combination of tubigrip and good sense. So I'll chalk this one up to experience, add it to the list for the sitcom I'm going to have to get round to writing, and take it as a sign that often a choice of word to describe the atmosphere can turn out to be all too apt. I felt fractious and I fractured. Ha. How's that for cosmic foreshadowing? 



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