I am nostalgic for the Emergency room. I liked the drugs they gave me. I liked how my only job was to lie there and not feel pain. I miss the nice nurse who wanted to know every detail about how I felt.
It has been four weeks since I ripped my hamstring and I can hobble around without crutches, but am not supposed to. The physical therapist says I am only allowed to be crutch-free if I walk properly. “More heel strike,” she says. I live out of my son’s first grade backpack, as I can’t manage carrying my ordinary school bag, and I have stuffed it with student papers, receipts, books, a calendar, my gym shorts for my incessant visits to physical therapy, my wallet and a bag of almonds that has opened. When I took out my folder for class on Thursday, a few almonds tumbled onto the desk. My students were very polite and did not mention this. Maybe this was just another of Professor Gordon’s eccentricities.
When I am not crutching around the halls of academe or trying to bend my leg in P.T, I am on the couch. Although I am trying to see this time as a great opportunity to dream and read, I am ready to go back to my office and get real work done. Or what feels like real work. However, the orange cat is happy. She sleeps on top of me, her cheek is resting on this computer even as I type.