I went to see my new orthopedic doctor on Tuesday, where it was determined that I have a mysterious medial meniscus malady. Because of this, I’m back in the boot for three weeks. If it’s not better in three weeks, we’ll discuss a steroid shot in the ankle. If that doesn’t do the trick, we’ll talk about a meniscal probe (which sounds a lot more cringe-worthy than it actually is) and/or surgery to clean up the demons (and scar tissue) in my ankle.
All of this to say: Yep. I’m hobbling around in the boot again. For three weeks. I’m supposed to be staying off of my foot as much as possible, but that’s tricky when one has tickets to see David Sedaris and the closest parking spot is a block away, and the Peabody Opera House is filled with stairs and beverages and a bear on the ceiling and David Sedaris on the stage! (I decided to pretend that my doctor appointment is actually TOMORROW. I’ll try to stay off of it starting tomorrow. Wait. Saturday might be better. Actually, Saturday the fifth of May at around 10:30 will be good, although I have plans that evening. Sunday the sixth. I’ll stay off of it starting Sunday the sixth.)
Our seats for David Sedaris were amazing, and although I’m a tough sell in the laughing out loud department, I did the shoulder bouncing laugh through his entire show. I would try to explain what took me down, but it would go a little something like this,
“. . . ha ha ha! And then the thing about the owl and the arm and the skeleton! And, and, and the one about living to 200 and the colonoscopy and Little Caesar’s and the joke about fellating Willie Nelson and the Tourette’s rally cry and Mr. and Mrs. Dunston at the coffee place that proudly serves Starbucks but isn’t actually a Starbucks! Oh! Oh! And the baby vampire! And having good time teeth! And Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls! . . .”
and that would probably bore you or, if you’re anything like me, irritate you beyond repair. I will say this: David Sedaris started writing in a diary when he was 20, and he has written in it every single day (except for maybe 40 days) for the past 35 years. And that inspires me so much that I am now in the market for a diary, but I believe I’ll settle for a college ruled five subject notebook from Walgreens, because I have a three dollar coupon that goes toward the purchase of absolutely anything, all because I bought a box of Prilosec to keep Meredith’s reflux under control! Magical.
Do you remember when we used to do morning pages together? Do you want to start that up again? We really should start that up again.
This afternoon I grabbed lunch at my favorite vegan deli, and while there I once again toyed with the idea of getting my nose pierced. Two days ago, a friend mentioned that she was also toying with the idea. I’ll be 42 in a few weeks. It seems like such a fun present for 42, does it not?
I wasn’t going to tell you this because I’ve become a bit self-conscious about beating my drum, BUT: As we were slowly making our way through the building toward the exit last night (the place was so crowded, and most of the crowd seemed to be headed to the lobby for the book signing), I heard a familiar voice to my right. I turned, and there was David Sedaris being escorted to the signing table by a bunch of Peabody thugs. I smiled the smile of a wild-eyed tongueless girl with a literary crush. He smiled and said, “Hello.” I nodded and returned it.
(All I could think about for the next hour is that David Sedaris used the same mouth to say hello to me that he uses to say hello to Ira Glass, and Bonus: I was able to say hello to him without falling down or puking out something ridiculous like “You, Ira Glass, Ben Folds, Anderson Cooper, Keith Olbermann, Mumford and Sons, Kale Chips!”)