If I Can't Get a Plastic Retainer for My Neck Piercing.....I Will Punch Candi to Relieve My Intense Anger
My knees (especially my left one) are just an absolute black hole for injury. It began this summer when I made an accidental, drunken drop to my knees on the deck of the Strasse Haus, and then walked around with bruises for a week or so. Later in the summer there followed the infamous disgusting, pus-y open wound that I obtained when my friends jerked me away from some guy that I'd recently hit in the face, causing me to trip over...something in City Park and pretty much eat shit, ripping my sister's purple fishnets that I was wearing and losing a significant amount of skin in the process. Yes, I was also drunk at the time. (Upon seeing me limp into the house with my big, fluid-leaking injury, my dear, concerned sister screeched, "You broke my fishnets?!") Then I fell out of Katelin's car while I was visiting the girls in Nashville last month. Onto asphalt. Ouch.
Okay...maybe they are just a black hole for drunken injury. In any case, they've struck again, this time without any help from chez vodka.
Both knees have been very painful and swollen for about three weeks, seemingly for no reason, as I can't remember doing anything that would have hurt them this badly. It's to the point where I've been limping around the house, occasionally on crutches, with intermittent tears over the pain. I can't stand up without serious help. I feel like I'm 80. So today I had a doctor's appointment to get them checked out. She didn't know what to make of it (it's always fun to hear the doctor going, "That is so weird! Wow! I have no idea! Weird!" *sarcasm*) and sent me down for blood tests and x-rays. Well, this was after she mused that it could possibly be rheumatoid arthritis or lupus. That's pretty rare, though, she said, unaware that I have quite the knack for landing on the wrong side of the statistics. That's why I have a blog. Or something like that. Anyway, seven vials of blood and eight x-rays later, we bopped off to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for the lovely, lovely Vicodin. I have an MRI scheduled for Monday.
I am nineteen years old. I absolutely refuse to have arthritis.
Okay...maybe they are just a black hole for drunken injury. In any case, they've struck again, this time without any help from chez vodka.
Both knees have been very painful and swollen for about three weeks, seemingly for no reason, as I can't remember doing anything that would have hurt them this badly. It's to the point where I've been limping around the house, occasionally on crutches, with intermittent tears over the pain. I can't stand up without serious help. I feel like I'm 80. So today I had a doctor's appointment to get them checked out. She didn't know what to make of it (it's always fun to hear the doctor going, "That is so weird! Wow! I have no idea! Weird!" *sarcasm*) and sent me down for blood tests and x-rays. Well, this was after she mused that it could possibly be rheumatoid arthritis or lupus. That's pretty rare, though, she said, unaware that I have quite the knack for landing on the wrong side of the statistics. That's why I have a blog. Or something like that. Anyway, seven vials of blood and eight x-rays later, we bopped off to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for the lovely, lovely Vicodin. I have an MRI scheduled for Monday.
I am nineteen years old. I absolutely refuse to have arthritis.
posted by Angela at 4:39 PM
1 Comments:
No more safety pins girl. Even though it feels good.
It's a slow kind of destruction, but it still destroys.
Destroy something outside of your beautiful self if you need to do that.
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