Soooo... I've been couch-ridden for almost a week and it's given me time to contemplate the meaning of the word "humility" as well as "humiliation." You see, I sprained my knee pretty damn bad by tripping on a cat scratching post one day, and then falling in the shower the next when the knee gave out.
Yes, you read that right. A cat scratching post.
Everyone I Know In The World: Wait, you're learning a variation of Muay Thai and it's a cat scratching post you sprain your MCL on? Really?
Me: Yes. >:(
ER Doctor: ... ooooo-kay. That's a new one.
Orthopedic Specialist: ... really?
Mother: ... like, what the cat scratches?
Friends: ... wait, the cat, or the cat's scratching post? Because cats can be evil, man, maybe they're trying to kill you. If they trip you, then you're down on their level and they can go for the jugular--
I've been told that I should come up with a cooler story, like I was doing a round-house kick to a 6'5" 300 lbs man's head and sprained my knee on his face, or I was back-flipping off a wall and landed wrong to avoid crushing a small child, etc. etc.
But, nope. I got nothing. Just me and a modern art wavy cat scratching post I bought from Target.
And now some crutches, and ibuprofen, and couch-surfing. Because in all seriousness, when I fell in the shower, Mr. Bay thought I was dead. First time I fell, the knee didn't hurt that bad, so I went about my business for the day. Second time (first fall in shower), I pulled a silent Nancy Kerrigan with gritted teeth on the bottom of the shower stall. Then I was an idiot and stood up on my good leg. My blood pressure dropped and I went back down like a wildebeest with a lion on its ass, complete with bloodless face, unblinking eyes, and no breathing for about ten seconds. Mum knows the technical term for it, but all Mr. Bay knew was PANIC, so I've been on my best behavior since trying not to give him an ulcer.
That also means I'm antsier than a two year old with a sugar high from the enforced inactivity, and surfing the web for marathons to run in the fall while I sigh heavily and glare at the confines of my living room. So if I can focus for more than five seconds on one thing, I might finish some of the stories on my to do list. Or, conversely, I might go back to pushing myself around the house in circles on our wheeled-ottoman making pirate noises and chasing the cats.
It's 50-50 at this point...