Independently Injured

So I'm a pretty darn independent kinda guy. Part of that independence (strange concept that independence has "parts" that make up being "independent, such that independence depends on those parts. Therefore, independence isn't independent. I digress though), entails me living alone in NYC.

But I'll tell ya something, living alone with a busted ankle sucks. I mean, you never realize how hard life can be until you can't walk to get a soda. Even putting together a bag of ice for the ankle is a pain in the...ankle.

I suppose I could have called some friends to come over and help out some, but I didn't. I do have someone bringing over some crutches today though.

When I was a kid, and I'd break my arm or something, I'd always try to hide it from my father. Ironically, last night, he calls me up and says, "Mo, (that was my nickname long before "Wyoming"), your ankle doesn't look too bad in that picture. You've played basketball tournaments with both ankles swollen bigger than that at the same time. What's up with the whining?"

Touche, Pop, touche.