Today marks the third week since “the accident” and I’m completely over the whole arm-in-a-sling thing. The most frustrating part of it is that, although my collarbone feels like it’s as knitted as an scarf, it decides to momentarily send shockwaves of pain throughout my arm whenever it decides I’ve rotated my arm too much and/or supported too much weight on it. “Too much weight” in this context usually means picking up a can of ravioli from the kitchen cabinet, which is chest level. It sucks.
Killer is in St. Charles visiting friends, for the holidays I assume. In case you are wondering, I don’t think I call him Killer to his face that much. I know it’s “what people call him” and all, but it’s a little too strange, even for me. I mean, it’s cute and all, but It’d be like meeting someone and having them say “call me necropheliac, everyone does.”
Ok, it’s not EXACTLY like meeting someone and having them ask you to call them that, but it’s similar.
I call him that when talking to my friends though, which is even more unsettling. “Me and Killer went to see Narnia last night.” It’s like I’m one of those insane bitches that fall in love with serial killers and write them letters while they’re in jail or something.
Ok, it’s not EXACTLY like I’m one of those insane bitches, but it’s similar. Ok, it’s not even similar in this case, but I couldn’t resist the paragraphical parellellism. Is that even a term?
Did I mention that, since the only place I can still get Wi-Fi is outside in the courtyard of my apartment complex, I’m outside in 42 degree weather posting this?
Ready, O.K. Brrrrr. It’s cold out here. There must be some Toros in the atmosphere.
I saidBrrrr. It’s cold out here.
2 more days till my badge-a-minit! I can’t wait!!