A self-portrait minus the blonde hair and innumerable bike tire tracks up and down my legsA quick explanation for the incredibly brief blog hiatus:
So, you know how when you're a kid, you really want crutches? Like, they seem really cool and you wish you could have all of the attention and cast-signing privileges awarded to your less graceful?
Turns out it's not quite as idyllic as I'd once imagined.
Let me set the scene for you. I'm bicycling in the Amish countryside with my parents (yeah, I did that, just deal with it) and I am really getting into it. I haven't ridden a bike since my ill-fated 5th grade arm-breakage, but I'd decided to give it another go.
As I'd become so astonishingly skillful at biking, I was far ahead and riding solo when I saw a small child of maybe 6 or 7 crying and struggling to keep up with his mom while biking. Like any self-entitled child of the 2000s, this allegedly innocent kid splats straight down in the middle of the path. Like any good conscientious and kind-hearted child of the 90s, I swerved in an effort to avoid running over him.
This was obviously a big mistake, resulting in 6 hours in the hospital, a broken ankle, and innumerable capsules of high-intensity pain medication. We're talking the hard stuff here. In my gimpish and unintentionally whacked-out-on-pain-meds state, I was unable to fulfill my duty of completing this morning's post.
As I am at the airport. Alone. On crutches. Can't walk. Giant bag. All sorts of fun.
Have no fear, though the use of heavy pain medication will ensue, I will be back in full blogging form later this week. Bye now, I'm off to butt-scoot up the stairs. No really, it's gonna be awesome. I appreciate your concern.
