lizbee | The worst weekend ever (Reply)

Actually, it started on Thursday evening, following a day featuring more sex offences than usual (to transcribe, not to witness or experience), which came following a week featuring more sex offences than usual. Work over, I was out with friends, on my way to see Neil Gaiman speak, and I rolled my ankle as I crossed the tram tracks on Bourke Street. FAIL. It's quite mild, as sprains go, and on my good ankle, which means it will heal in a few weeks rather than six months.

Because I am a superstar, I sent my friends for first aid supplies, then wrapped it, iced it and took an anti-inflammatory, and hobbled down the block to see Neil.

THAT WAS PRETTY GREAT, BTW. The interviewer was overtly fangirly in a highly embarrassing way, but Gaiman was hardcore professional and ducked and weaved around the silliness to basically say what he had set out to say all along. He read from his upcoming novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which sounds rather good -- samples of the first few chapters were also given out -- and talked about his many, many other projects. He also discussed his relationship with Amanda Palmer, how unexpected it was to find himself married to an extroverted, frequently naked (his words) rock star, and their different attitude to the boundary between public and private life. On that note, his expression of DO NOT WANT! PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS! IT IS EMBARRASSING AND INAPPROPRIATE BUT I AM MUCH TOO POLITE TO SAY SO when the interviewer started talking about his hypothetical children with Palmer was kind of priceless.

He also discussed his new Doctor Who episode, "The Last Cyberman" (he's not certain this will be the title when it airs), and was able to exclusively reveal that it has Cybermen, and also other things.

There was less about his writing process than I would have liked, but I was fascinated to learn that he earns about $300 for a short story these days, and can simply call up friends and ask to borrow their holiday homes to stay at and write. I need more friends with holiday homes, that's all I'm saying.

Then we took a taxi home, because ANKLE.

I had totally planned to go to work on Friday, because it's a long weekend, and a day off would involve faffing around at the doctor's and getting a medical certificate. But when I got up, I couldn't really get further than the lounge room without pain, so ... I took the day off. And then hobbled to the doctor and spent two and a half hours waiting, because I didn't have an appointment and the receptionist had forgotten to enter me into the electronic queue.

Armed with my medical certificate, I bought some medicinal chocolate and red wine and hobbled home to spend a peaceful evening watching Parks and Rec and embroidering a plump girl in a spacesuit. At some point, the cat came in and jumped up on my windowsill. He's not supposed to get up there at night, because other cats wander around, and he tends to freak out and attack people when he sees other members of his species. The vet said it's a mixture of PTSD and an anxiety disorder, and we give him 5 mg of Prozac a day.

Anyway, I saw him get up there, and I thought, well, I should get him down, but my ankle hurts, it's all the way across the room, I'll take my chances.

BAD MOVE. Because wouldn't you know it, he sees another cat, freaks out, and suddenly I have bites and scratches all down my right arm. And on my hip. And on my leg.

So I fight him off, and he runs away to hide, and I have to take a minute because there's blood everywhere, including all over my bedding, and then I freaked out because I couldn't find the antiseptic cream. IT WAS GREAT. There was crying! Finally I hobbled into the bathroom, applied tea tree oil (which is supposed to be an antiseptic) and anti-bacterial soap, and lots of band-aids.

Half an hour later, I replaced most of the band-aids and went on feeling AGGRESSIVELY SORRY FOR MYSELF.

Eventually I went to sleep, and obviously I was really tense, because I woke up with pain everywhere, but especially my arm and ankle. Some of the scratches are showing signs of infection, and I had a fever, but paracetamol got that down. Suffice to say, in 21 minutes I have a doctor's appointment to get ALL THE ANTIBIOTICS, and should probably find some shoes that will fit over my bandage.

...one hour later, I'm happy to report that I waited only three minutes to see the doctor this time, and now I have penicillin. And two more boxes of band-aids. And a fresh tube of antiseptic cream. And one episode left to go of Parks & Rec season 4.

In conclusion, I think this weekend is going to get better, starting ... now. And feline anxiety disorders are no laughing matter. And they make special band-aids for bendy joints now, which is clever!