Captain coordination strikes again!

Sure, they give us winter storm warnings, and all that, but what do those alerts really mean?

They mean sprained ankles, bruised Achilles tendons and glutei maximi (just missed the kidney), strained wrists, and swollen, purple, and otherwise exceptionally unsightly toes. They mean sitting funny, with my foot elevated, for the next three days or so, and holding the keyboard in my lap, instead of letting it rest in a sensible, reasonable position on the surface of the desk.

They also mean a big, blue cloud above my parents' front steps. I had forgotten I knew how to use such language, until my feet refused to establish themselves correctly on my way home, last night. I found my way down the six stairs, having taken only one step.

The weather here wasn't really so nasty -- just slushy rain. But underneath it all was just the faintest trace of ice, undetectable unless you stepped just right. And step just right I did. I taught the kittehs of Momsporchistan a whole new language last evening, while, as if in slow motion, I made my way from vertical to diagonal.

Having a nonfunctional refrigerator at home, hence no ice cubes, I decided to let nature apply its own ice pack to it, so I drove out to the city park, stuck my already soggy foot into a slush puddle, and reduced the swelling while increasing the swearing. When, at last, I was ready, I made my way home to a warm bath and large bottle of aspirin... and cats, who seem to think that walking on sore spots will make them feel better. I suppose having Maus dance on my shoulder works to ease the muscle problems I have there, but I don't recommend catspaw massage on fresh bruises. They just make the air bluer.


Oh -- and Maus likes to do a spectacular zigzag entry onto my bed, springing off the chair and landing on the edge of the bed... where my "good" foot was resting nekkid, last evening as I tried to ease myself around and onto the pillows. Her claw caught my second toe and drew profuse blood. So, I was stuck trying to find a comfortable position in which to sit (not on or against any fresh injuries) so that I could clean the wound and apply a bandage.

Poor Maus sat across the room on a stack of books, startled by the foot which got in her way. It took some serious persuading to get her to come over and massage my shoulder. No claws, this time.

Of course, this morning, my foot wouldn't fit inside my winter boot, or into any but the flimsiest of shoes. And the forecast is for upwards of 6 inches of snow.