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Oh, The Ignominy
Oct. 4th, 2005 07:37 pmAnd once again, I prove to myself and the universe that I am not a dramatic hero. A comic hero, perhaps, or a wacky sidekick, though I'm not quite sure whose side I should be kicking, but definitely nothing dramatic or romantic or elegant in my life. Dramatic, romantic heros always wind up ill or injured in glorious or glamorous ways - shocking injuries obtained while rescuing others, or noble wasting diseases that leave them looking pale but angelic.
Me? I wind up incapacitating myself by biting my tongue while eating a chicken sandwich. It's not quite as ridiculous as the time I wound up with a black eye from swing dancing, or dislocated my hip in a particularly vigorous roleplaying game, but... this is fairly high on the list of non-glamorous injuries. In fact, I didn't know it was actually physically possible to bite one's own tongue this badly.
It's big, and swollen, and red, and I'm having a hard time controlling the urge to stick my tongue out and stare at it to see if it's getting any worse at inappropriate times. It's also demanding that I restrict my diet to the rather small subset of foods that are neither hot nor cold, do not require significant chewing, and yet are not at all sticky. Also also, speaking has become a bit of a painful challenge.
This last problem wouldn't matter so much, if not for the fact that I belong to a career that revolves around nigh-constant communication. And while being a mumbling mush-mouth is not particularly professional, neither is trying to explain to clients the exact cause of my current problems. So I talk, and I mumble, and I wince, and I'm fairly certain this constant babbling is a large part of why I'm not getting any better. That, and the fact that my life is one big sitcom for the gods, and we've entered slapstick season.
Meanwhile, I am home now, and managing to communicate with gestures and dramatic facial expressions while my poor laconic husband is striving to keep up both sides of the evening's conversation, and my cats are meowing desperately in an attempt to get me to talk back at them. I'd laugh at the utter ludicrosity of the situation, if it didn't hurt so much....
Me? I wind up incapacitating myself by biting my tongue while eating a chicken sandwich. It's not quite as ridiculous as the time I wound up with a black eye from swing dancing, or dislocated my hip in a particularly vigorous roleplaying game, but... this is fairly high on the list of non-glamorous injuries. In fact, I didn't know it was actually physically possible to bite one's own tongue this badly.
It's big, and swollen, and red, and I'm having a hard time controlling the urge to stick my tongue out and stare at it to see if it's getting any worse at inappropriate times. It's also demanding that I restrict my diet to the rather small subset of foods that are neither hot nor cold, do not require significant chewing, and yet are not at all sticky. Also also, speaking has become a bit of a painful challenge.
This last problem wouldn't matter so much, if not for the fact that I belong to a career that revolves around nigh-constant communication. And while being a mumbling mush-mouth is not particularly professional, neither is trying to explain to clients the exact cause of my current problems. So I talk, and I mumble, and I wince, and I'm fairly certain this constant babbling is a large part of why I'm not getting any better. That, and the fact that my life is one big sitcom for the gods, and we've entered slapstick season.
Meanwhile, I am home now, and managing to communicate with gestures and dramatic facial expressions while my poor laconic husband is striving to keep up both sides of the evening's conversation, and my cats are meowing desperately in an attempt to get me to talk back at them. I'd laugh at the utter ludicrosity of the situation, if it didn't hurt so much....
