I busted my butt!

Well, actually, I only bruised it (I think). Don't ask me how, but I managed to fall off of the seat of a rowing machine today and land coccyx-first on the metal track part of the rowing machine. Needless to say, it hurt. A lot. Thank goodness for ice and a trainer who knows when to push me to keep going and when to let me hold a bag of frozen corn to my butt and cry like a little girl.

I usually do great with rowing, too, and I've never had anything like that happen before. As I was lying on the ground gasping for air, I saw a biog blob of string on the track, and it didn't look like anything that would have come off of me, so I suspect that it was something that got caught up in the machine and caused the wheels to slow or skip while my body kept moving.

And that was my day. How was yours?

(PS: Green and teal bracelet is coming along great)

Busted thumb update

We just got back from the orthopedist, where Chris was given a cast up to his elbow and told that it will take 10 weeks for that little thumb-bone to heal. But the good news is that the bone didn't die, which was a definite possibility given the bone in question and the fact that it went untended for over a month.

It was a very good thing that I drove him there, because we got into the office and they handed him a 6-page medical history questionnaire to fill out. I'm now his unofficial secretary, writing and filling things out for him. My new position pays all the chocolate and beads I want, which is the same pay as my housewife position, but it looks better on my resume.

Day = Derailed

I had plans to get some work done today, beading and housework and setting things up on my new computer. And I was going to get some dance practice -- smoothing out my gahwazee, and trying to get that darned beledi zill rhythm memorized.

What did I do instead? I spent 4 hours at Urgent Care with Chris. Back when I injured my ankle, he injured his wrist. He thought it was nothing and ignored it, but it kept hurting after the gym. Finally yesterday he really hurt himself at the gym, and the trainer, his best friend and I all told him he had to go see a doctor. So he did, and the doctor ordered X-Rays, and the X-Rays found a broken bone in his hand. So tomorrow he has to go to an orthopedist. Hopefully he won't need surgery, but it is a possibility.

And while I would like to now relax a bit and then catch up on all I had to do today, instead I'm off to the gym. Hooray.

Stupid ankle

Back on Tuesday, I hurt my ankle at the gym. I don't know if it was too many box jumps, or if I stretched it too far doing dead lifts, but it definitely feels like I jacked up my Achilles tendon. That tendon, by the way, is my body's main way of trying to sabotage my attempts to work out. I would have expected my lack of upper body strength to be the big hurdle, but no, it's my stupid, short Achilles tendon, which keeps me from being able to squat and which now is keeping me from doing anything more active than limping back and forth across the house.

In all fairness, my ankle would probably be fine by now if I hadn't had the brilliant idea to take my injured ankle up to Tempe and dance on it for an hour. I didn't want to miss my belly dance class, since next Thursday I'll be in Tahoe. And honestly, it was an awesome class. Something clicked and I didn't really struggle with any of the moves, and my arms never got tired, and I had fun. The four students in attendance were doing so well that Cari, our teacher, kept picking faster and faster music and changing up which moves we transitioned to and from to keep us on our toes. It was amazing. I feel like I'm really progressing in my goal to dance well enough to perform and teach, instead of stumbling my way through class. I still have a long way to go, but the forward momentum is there.

Now if this stupid ankle would just catch up with the rest of me!

A picture of my nemesis.

Yesterday I decided that I was going to assemble my new crafting desk/table. The box was inconveniently in the walkway, and it was way past time to open that box and put the thing together. I planned to do it by myself, for two reasons: because I could, and because Chris was sleeping off his cold in the bedroom. Daisy assisted me in her capacity as Construction Dog* but since she doesn't have opposable thumbs, all she could really do was offer moral support.

Things were going fine until I got up to adding the slider for the drawer, and I discovered that the tiny screws used (of which there are about 50 used in various places) are made of cheapola metal, and that using a power screwdriver on them totally strips the head. So I soldiered on with a manual screwdriver, which also occasionally stripped the head. What the heck.

Many curse words were uttered, but I was resolute. I was going to finish the desk! I felt like even with having to do almost everything manually, I could probably finish it before bed if I stayed up a little late. I was feeling energized, partially by the great feeling of putting something together by myself, with no male intervention, and partially by the two liters or so of white tea that I had drank throughout the day, not to mention the holiday chocolate that I'm still working my way through.

And then -- disaster struck! The top of the desk/table features a little side table that folds down when not in use, thus taking up less space. I had already attempted to attach the main top to the base first, and then attach the side table, but this required upside down screwing, which the cheap screws could not withstand. So, as per the directions, I assembled the two-part hingey tabletop and prepared to place it on the base, which would require lining up 8 holes with their associated pegs.

The assembled tabletop was rather heavy and awkward, perhaps too much for a 5-and-a-half foot tall, 110 lb, pipe-cleaner armed young lady to handle on her own, but fueled by my pride and the success that I'd already have doing things All By Myself, I did not listen to the little voice that told me to ask Chris to give me a hand for a moment. Hey, the man was sick, I figured I should let him enjoy his video game, and I, being perfectly well**, could handle the grunt work.

Most of you already know what happened next, thanks to e-mail or my Facebook status. The hinging desk hinged, and pinched both of my forefingers. OW! My right finger got out of it with just a little pinch. My left finger, however, got a huge, nasty gash which is currently wrapped protectively in a magical pink-and-purple faerie bandage. And thus ended my desk-constructing dreams.

So now it's sitting, mostly completed, in my living room. But wait... is that a cat in that cubbyhole? It certainly is. Topher wasted little time in discovering that there was a perfect kitty-sized cave in the new desk.

*Daisy is a dog of many talents. She's also the Science Dog, the Cooking Dog, and the Laundry Dog. She pretty much likes to be wherever we are, and will sit there and watch very attentively, in case there is any dropped food or petting involved.

**Yeah, that didn't last. I woke up today and found that I had Chris's cold.