Wonderland or Not

I have a bro­ken toe. The diag­no­sis was con­fir­med via pho­tos I emai­led to seve­ral medi­cal pro­fes­sio­nals rela­ted to me by blood or time.

Reca­lling my recently bro­ken wrist you might assume me clumsy, acci­dent prone, or affec­ted with Münchau­sen syn­drome. Howe­ver, the agent of the disas­ter was a heavy wood stool, part of a trio I’ve been mea­ning to replace for a year. I was mean­de­ring through the dark kitchen the other night when one of these vile excu­ses for coun­ter sea­ting got in my toe’s way.

When what I thought was a clas­sic stub toe ended up throb­bing well into the next after­noon I gave it further ins­pec­tion. Fin­ding the toe strea­ked with pur­plish black, to cover all bases and verify the chance of nee­ding an ampu­ta­tion was slim, I took a photo and sent it off. Con­se­quently, I am taping two toes together and aban­do­ning the flip flops for stur­dier shoes. I have been told I need no other treat­ment at this time.

There is no repa­ying these cybers­pace diag­nos­ti­cians of mine. That’s the pro­blem with not being a pro­fes­sio­nal in the way of a doc­tor, accoun­tant, law­yer, or agent to the stars. I have very little to offer friends and family in times of cri­sis. Even my mixo­logy talent is limi­ted to gin and tonic, tequila straight up, or a mar­tini. Though I can shake or stir with equal exper­tise. In gene­ral there is very little prac­ti­cal use for someone who com­pi­les and analy­zes facts and obser­va­tions. As you can ima­gine, the “help me please my sta­tis­ti­cal data is totally out of whack” pleas are few and far between.

Such is life.

Enjoy your wee­kend — she says patro­ni­zingly, as if anyone is going to “not enjoy their wee­kend on pur­pose.

And because you can’t go wrong with lyrics like “what’s your name (what’s your name), who’s your daddy (who’ your daddy), (he rich), is he rich like me “, even when per­for­med by men old enough to be my father’s much older brothers. I give you my August obses­sion, The Zom­bies, sin­ging Time of the Season.

There’s a fun­kier one on Com­pul­sions, with their much youn­ger voi­ces, and a un-embeddable but awe­some ver­sion here.