I have been M.I.A. for a while because I have been concentrating on moving, which I did a couple of weekends ago, and have not had internet because we’re waiting for a visit from the cable company and a wireless router to ship. It may be of interest to know that my boyfriend and I moved into a third floor apartment…while the old tenant was still technically living there. Moving (and all the things that go with it) sucks. It’s not only a physically taxing process, but a disorienting one as well. A place that was once home becomes an empty shell, even if it exists in the mind exactly as it was. It is a reminder that nothing is ever permanent or solid. I have moved at least once a year since I finished high school, and the constant uprooting makes me wonder if I will ever settle anywhere.
There’s a long, drawn-out story involved in this year‘s great migration, but here are the basic facts: my boyfriend and I needed a place to live, and the young lady at this place had wanted out of her lease as soon as possible due to unnamed health problems. When the landlord found new people to move in she said she wanted to stay until the end of the month because she needed “to find the manpower” to help her move. The landlord set a move-in date, at which time she stopped returning his calls, and then threw a fit when she came home in her rainbow-colored bikini top to find some of my things stacked against her bedroom wall.
We spent all of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday moving stuff, putting things away, and cleaning up after this spoiled little slob who clearly hadn’t touched a mop, duster, or broom all year. There was a layer of grime on the blinds, fungus growing on the shower curtain (which had likely never been changed), and sundry treasures throughout the kitchen and bedroom. I am about as far from a clean freak as it gets, but even I said to myself, “Jesus bloody Christ,” as I pulled a ball of hair the size of a small rodent out of the shower drain.
I had to work Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, so when all was said and done I hadn’t even had the time to put my own things away; my clothes are still in trash bags on the floor. I was looking forward to getting that done on Tuesday after work and having a day to myself the following day. I even allowed myself a midday nap, during which time I received a phone call from my boyfriend.
“I need you to come get me. I can’t walk.”
That’s right - my sister is not the only member of my family who attracts men who continue to find new and interesting ways to hurt themselves. I guess the skateboard as a transportation device was not the best solution to the “How will I get to class?” problem.
I picked him up and he hopped on one foot into work to tell them he would not be there for his shift in an hour, and then we drove to the hospital. Amazingly, the ER trip only took us about half the amount of time I once spent with a friend who was bleeding from the navel. In three and a half hours they managed take x-rays, put my boyfriend in a cast, tell him he had “either sprained or fractured” his ankle (they couldn’t tell which), and send him on his way with a prescription for generic Vicodin - which “may cause dizziness.” This shouldn’t be a problem - he is only on crutches, after all. The nausea and bloody noses also don’t at all cause problems.
We will make do. The university has a cripple van service that will be able to take him to class, and I can live with being the happy laundry-doing, grocery-buying housewife for a few weeks. If I budget my time well, maybe I will be able to get my books put away by August.
Today I took G to the doctor, and they took off his cast and replaced it with a space boot. His ankle is still swollen and badly bruised (a co-worker remarked that it looked like "a 400-pound woman's cankle"). The doctor said that he tore some ligaments, as well as broke some sort of bone, and may or may not need surgery. So in a week he goes back and still doesn’t know when he can go back to work, but at least he’s out of the cast and in less pain. Until then, we wait.
Also, I locked my keys in the car for the first time yesterday. Go me.