Just back from the Georgetown ortho department, and I've been crutch-free for 15 minutes. My left leg seems to have forgotten how to work, but otherwise gravy.

But to my ex-girlfriend (the artist formerly known as the artist formly known as the artist formerly known as Cronkette, thrice-removed), who at her latest veggie potluck on Sunday openly declared, "All this for a sprain! It's not even broken!," I'd like to report that my ankle's still the size of a small navel orange, my foot's all black and blue from the ligament bleeding that pooled at the base, and I have to wear a brace and go back in four weeks to start therapy. ...That would be physical therapy, for those who were wondering.

I've learned three important lessons from this experience:

1.) Alcohol is a hell of a drug.

2.) I've mastered the art of peeing on one leg. ...the art of peeing while standing on one leg.

3.) Handicapped people are amazing, for what they go deal with on a permanent basis. I mean, this was just 10 days and it's pure bliss to walk again. Imagine months, years...never. Those of us with in control of all four appendages should kiss the ground every day - heaven forbid something awful ever happens.