So, I was actually going to try checking out Fort Totten again this weekend. Or maybe Flushing, and the rumored foodie nirvana that is its food courts.
But that was to come after picking things up at my CSA early Saturday morning. It’s a nice walk, actually – about 20 minutes from my house. I sometimes get up early enough on Saturday to jog first (and that is a very infrequent sometimes), but this Saturday I took my time, and was going to maybe try that Sunday instead. I felt more leisurely this Saturday. I was even listening to a fairly mellow Cat Stevens song as I walked through the park on my way there.
And at some point I actually managed to trip on absolutely nothing at all, and stumbled bad enough that I sprained my ankle.
At first I leaned against someone’s car and swore a lot. Then took a few steps to see how bad it hurt. I’ve actually broken my foot the same way, and knew that if the pain didn’t start abating, then it was another break. But after about ten limping steps, the pain started to ease, and I took it as just a stubbornly twisted ankle; something I could walk off. So I walked the remaining three blocks to pick things up.
It wasn’t until I actually got to the pickup point and sat down for a minute that I saw that my ankle had swollen about twice its size, and I realized that yeah, maybe walking wasn’t such a good idea.
Someone else took pity on me and fetched my vegetables for me, and I limped to get a cab home. Then limped up the four flights of stairs (ow), warned my roommate that I was injured, and sat down with an ice pack and….realized that this meant I was pretty much stuck inside for the next 48 hours.
Now, it’s not the first time I’ve spent a day without leaving the house. But this weekend I didn’t want to. That made all the difference. I tried distracting myself with knitting, but got bored; I tried reading a couple books, but got distracted. I’d been all geared up to do something but couldn’t.
Finally, out of sheer desperation I picked over some of the vegetables I’d gotten, suited up one last time, carefully wrapped my ankle in an Ace bandage and limped to a food shop nearby to buy some chicken scraps off their butcher counter. If I was going to have to be around the house all day, I was going to have some kind of productive activity come out of it.
…It’s been 48 hours and the walk to the food market probably delayed my healing somewhat. But I have a gallon of really good soup stock out of it, and I’m a lot saner, dammit.