A Thing I'm Supposed to Like but Don't

My roommate and her fiance are often up and out of the house on Saturdays before I even get out of bed. For the record, I'm often awake for hours before I get out of bed. I like to lie there, daydream, read, check Facebook. I might grab some breakfast and take it back to bed so I can eat it there. But I'm in bed, or at least on it. I'm lying on my bed right now.

I think they go hiking. Or to the Boston Harbor Islands. Or somewhere outdoors where they can take her dog.

I hate hiking. The thought of getting myself up early on a Saturday morning to do it is unpleasant. Hiking is so effortful. Synonyms: Trudging, slogging, death-marching. Why go to the woods just so you can walk through them so quickly and with imaginary purpose that you have to spend all your time looking at your feet to avoid tripping? I'd rather stroll. I'll stroll anywhere. Or mosey. Or amble. Or -- Oooo! -- meander.

I'll happily walk for miles, as long as we're not in a hurry.

And as long as you don't try to drag me out of bed early to do it, as if it's my job. I have a job, and I don't like that, either.

Tantrum

I don't wanna go to work tomorrow.

I didn't wanna go to work today. I was planning on it, but I honestly have a cold and didn't want to cough all over the office kitchenette. So I called in sick for non-psychosomatic reasons, and will now have an even bigger pile of work to tackle in the morning.

I don't wanna go.

I'm feeling sorry for myself. Having Sundays where I start to get bummed because the next day means going to work. Not wanting to go to sleep at night because that brings morning faster and morning means having to go to work.

Ugh. Sometimes it just weighs on a body, you know?

I feel bad complaining, because I have friends who don't have steady jobs. At the same time, if "Other people don't have jobs" is your best reason for not complaining, perhaps it's not wrong to hope for something better.

Post-Op Shoe!

My roommate had to take a picture with her camera, upload it to her Mac, then email it to me to I could save it from there. Everything is stupid. But we now have a picture for you, ladies and gents! Don't even talk about how it's sideways; we're lucky I got this up without tearing my laptop in half with my bare hands. Note the cute pearl-colored toenail polish. This is cute, and not a sign of some horrible fungus.

I AM Too Stupid to Use the Camera

I took pictures.

I hooked the camera up to the computer.

After a couple tries, I saw the pictures I took on the computer.

And now they are gone.

I hate cameras. I hate computers. I hate technology. I hate software. I hate that everything is stupid.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Hate hate hate hate.

Technology ruined a perfectly good injury.

My Brush with Death

Last night, outside the door of my comedy partner Ben, I discovered a rusty nail. I discovered it by stepping on it with my boot, and placing my weight on it so that it went straight through the sole of my boot and into my foot.

This was not intentional. I'm not stupid. Though my powers of observation could probably use some improvement. And in my defense, it was right in front of the door. Where people's feet go.

For those wondering how a nail might place itself perpendicular to the ground so as to be dangerous to people feet: It was one of two nails protruding from a thin piece of wood that had come loose from a table that was sitting on the porch. One table's relaxation on a late spring evening equals one tetanus hazard for me.

I live a very low-drama life, so I'm slow to assume that anything truly bad will come of accidents like this. Apart from a dime-sized spot of blood on my sock -- and I was surprised there was even that much -- things looked fine. So it's good that Ben decided to act concerned, or I probably would have spent the next week running around, pumping infection and tetanus through my body. If I'd gotten dead from stepping on a nail, I would have felt really dumb. Worst. Obituary. Ever:

Holly died last week because she wasn't looking where she was going. Between stepping on a rake and slipping on a banana peel, she impaled her foot on a rusty nail. This is what all the grown-ups warn you about, kids. Let it be a lesson to all. Need we even mention that she was not up to date on her tetanus shots? Always get your shots, kids. She didn't live to get any of her comedy sketches on the Internet, but she'll live forever in a grainy movie they show to second graders about the dangers of running around vacant lots barefoot. Take heed.

Ben went online to see if he could find out what the odds were that I would die. The general electronic consensus was that I should get a shot. I thought that the fact that the nail went through my boot, leaving an orange rust dot on the sole, meant that maybe the boot had wiped off some of the rust and tetanus and ickiness before it got to my foot. But when I called the 24/7 nurse help line on my health insurance card, she said the opposite was true: Outdoor footwear has lots of nastiness on the bottom, and the nail could have picked it up and put it in my foot. Swell. And perhaps eventually, swollen.

So Ben called the person with the most encyclopedic knowledge of health problems that he knows: His girlfriend Jeannine. She was also concerned. And she has a car, which she drove from half an hour away to come pick us up and take us to a hospital. She also knows all the hospitals in the area. Somehow, walking 45 minutes to the nearest hospital, possibly pumping toxins from my foot to the rest of my body, seemed stupid. And I'm not stupid, as I've already stated. But I think it bears repeating.

And that's how we spent our evening in the emergency room. The staff there was remarkably friendly, to the point where it felt like everyone, male and female, was flirting with me. Or maybe that was the effect of the caffeine-laden headache pills I'd taken earlier that day. I had a whole crowd of medical professionals around me, explaining what they were going to do. They asked if I minded all the attention, and I wanted to say, "Are you kidding? I'm a comedian. I fantasize about these situations. Now hand me a seltzer bottle and a rubber chicken and let me get to work making you laugh before I die." But they were the ones who got to work. Because the puncture wound was so small, they were going to give me a couple injections of Novocain, then open the wound up and clean it out. I asked if I could get a tetanus shot, too, because apparently I was in the mood for needles. Maybe I am stupid.

One of the doctors was noticeably cute. Though he wore clogs, and they were shiny, which made me think he might be gay. Rats. Because that's obviously the only thing that would stop him from hitting on me, his patient, whose stinky foot was in his face.

After I was all cleaned up and shot up and bandaged, I put my dirty bloody sock back on. They thought that wasn't the best idea, even though I promise I'm not stupid. They gave me a "post-op shoe." Maybe I can take a picture of it for you. Hang on a sec.

...OK, my camera is dead, so that's charging. I'll see if I can get back to you on that.

After the emergency room, Jeannine knew of a 24-hour pharmacy where I could get my prescription for Cipro filled. Cipro: That's what they give you for Anthrax, too. Cool! I'm supposed to pop those pills, and soak my foot three times a day. I think, in layman's terms, that means I'm supposed to sit around and watch DVDs this weekend. Doctor's orders.

So, that was my brush with death. I'll try and get a picture of the shoe up at some point. Unless I'm too stupid to work my camera.

This Is Why I Can't Have Nice Things

Because they throw other things into stark relief.

How's that for glass-half-empty thinking?

I enjoyed shooting this web series. I want to do more things like this. But when I got home in the evenings, I was bored. I'm almost never bored at home, because I like sitting around the house and watching TV. But it wasn't enough after doing something that was both challenging and satisfying, even if I felt like I could have done better. TV wasn't hacking it after that.

And neither is work. I mean, it's not bad. I've certainly had worse. But Tuesday was rough. I spent a weekend acting and then hanging with friends, and then I had to come to a job that made me think about logistics and solve problems and understand boring stuff? Blergh.

Also, two of my friends got engaged (to each other) on Monday night. That's great, in a non-sarcastic way. I don't necessarily have trouble being happy for other people. It's just that watching things happen in other people's lives makes mine look even slower in comparison, like being passed on the highway.

So, things are as fine as they were two weeks ago. But when a fun thing comes my way, it's like getting a bite of food and realizing how hungry I am.

Now my tummy's all growly.