Six More Weeks . . .
until the cinnamon sofa arrives in the warehouse of Biggest Store in the World. I called today to check. I am impatient for it to arrive so that I will once again be able to lounge around in my apartment rather than sitting upright (!) all the time. But I am using the time to tidy up, bit by bit. Today I dealt with paper: filed and also threw away a lot.
In other news, I have once again injured my fingers playing volleyball, this time the third and fourth fingers on my right hand. I didn't hurt them as badly as I hurt my left pinky two years ago--nothing actually popped out of place but a day later the two knuckles are puffed up rather alarmingly, the skin fat and wrinkly like little balloons. As soon as it happened (the ball caught the tips of my fingers and bent them back) I ran off the court in pain. Someone yelled out "are you okay?" and I said "yes," because I could tell I was, basically, and then the same guy yelled out to everyone else, "Okay, play the point, she's okay!" But then when the point was over all the guys rushed over (it was just me and the guys playing, at that moment anyway) and made a fuss over me, which I have to admit was rather enjoyable. I was preoccupied with how much pain I was in, so I just have a confused memory of shapes moving over me, blocking out the sunlight, people saying, "Do you want ice?" "Yes, get her some ice." "Which fingers is it?" "Here, let me pull them out." Ouch! That part hurt. I started having that feeling of hyperventilating and wanting to cry, although I don't think I did. Cry, that is. Then they all went back to playing and I made my way back to our blanket and ravenously ate the rest of my half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which made me feel less sick and low blood-sugar-y. Bartender Guy asked me if I wanted a cold beer as he grabbed one for himself on his way back to the net. I didn't think that was a great idea so I politely refused and watched a couple of games while cradling a melting chunk of ice on my knuckles. When the guys all came back to the blanket for a break, New Age Guy offered me some essential oils to rub on my hand, something for pain and then peppermint oil on top, which, he said, was also for pain but has the property of making things sink into your skin. I rubbed them on my hand, which seemed to make it feel better. It also made it smell very nice.
After a while I got bored just watching the games. It was a beautiful day, and I hated to miss out on playing. So, even though I thought I probably shouldn't, I got up and played the last few games, rather cautiously, trying to avoid using my fingers, which is actually quite possible in volleyball. It was one of those sunny fall days when, again, some of us couldn't bear to leave until the last possible moment. We played the last couple of games four on four, hitting the ball back and forth until it was almost too dark to see it. One of the other people playing, a woman friend, kept saying, "Remember when we used to play until it got dark and the bats came out?" I sort of remembered. A guy who is new to the group, who had missed that experience, seemed disappointed that the bats hadn't shown up this time. "Where are the bats?" he kept saying, as we were pulling up the spikes that hold the net in place.
We left the park as it was truly becoming twilight, mostly everyone else gone, the trees turning into dark shapes. "Let's go," I said, "before the bad people come out." One of my friends laughed and said, "Yes, the werewolves," making that werewolf howling sound. Of course, I was not thinking of werewolves but of predatory humans, but his interpretation was nicer, less cynical.
So that is my report on volleyball this week and the sorry state of my knuckles. I am thinking I may go see the doctor tomorrow just to make sure right away that there is no fracture and nothing else I should be doing to make sure the fingers heal properly. I would rather not have two more crooked fingers if at all possible.
Will keep you all posted, of course.
In other news, I have once again injured my fingers playing volleyball, this time the third and fourth fingers on my right hand. I didn't hurt them as badly as I hurt my left pinky two years ago--nothing actually popped out of place but a day later the two knuckles are puffed up rather alarmingly, the skin fat and wrinkly like little balloons. As soon as it happened (the ball caught the tips of my fingers and bent them back) I ran off the court in pain. Someone yelled out "are you okay?" and I said "yes," because I could tell I was, basically, and then the same guy yelled out to everyone else, "Okay, play the point, she's okay!" But then when the point was over all the guys rushed over (it was just me and the guys playing, at that moment anyway) and made a fuss over me, which I have to admit was rather enjoyable. I was preoccupied with how much pain I was in, so I just have a confused memory of shapes moving over me, blocking out the sunlight, people saying, "Do you want ice?" "Yes, get her some ice." "Which fingers is it?" "Here, let me pull them out." Ouch! That part hurt. I started having that feeling of hyperventilating and wanting to cry, although I don't think I did. Cry, that is. Then they all went back to playing and I made my way back to our blanket and ravenously ate the rest of my half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which made me feel less sick and low blood-sugar-y. Bartender Guy asked me if I wanted a cold beer as he grabbed one for himself on his way back to the net. I didn't think that was a great idea so I politely refused and watched a couple of games while cradling a melting chunk of ice on my knuckles. When the guys all came back to the blanket for a break, New Age Guy offered me some essential oils to rub on my hand, something for pain and then peppermint oil on top, which, he said, was also for pain but has the property of making things sink into your skin. I rubbed them on my hand, which seemed to make it feel better. It also made it smell very nice.
After a while I got bored just watching the games. It was a beautiful day, and I hated to miss out on playing. So, even though I thought I probably shouldn't, I got up and played the last few games, rather cautiously, trying to avoid using my fingers, which is actually quite possible in volleyball. It was one of those sunny fall days when, again, some of us couldn't bear to leave until the last possible moment. We played the last couple of games four on four, hitting the ball back and forth until it was almost too dark to see it. One of the other people playing, a woman friend, kept saying, "Remember when we used to play until it got dark and the bats came out?" I sort of remembered. A guy who is new to the group, who had missed that experience, seemed disappointed that the bats hadn't shown up this time. "Where are the bats?" he kept saying, as we were pulling up the spikes that hold the net in place.
We left the park as it was truly becoming twilight, mostly everyone else gone, the trees turning into dark shapes. "Let's go," I said, "before the bad people come out." One of my friends laughed and said, "Yes, the werewolves," making that werewolf howling sound. Of course, I was not thinking of werewolves but of predatory humans, but his interpretation was nicer, less cynical.
So that is my report on volleyball this week and the sorry state of my knuckles. I am thinking I may go see the doctor tomorrow just to make sure right away that there is no fracture and nothing else I should be doing to make sure the fingers heal properly. I would rather not have two more crooked fingers if at all possible.
Will keep you all posted, of course.
posted by Sarah Sometimes at 10:11 PM
1 Comments:
I always like hearing about the volleyball crowd -- and different characters.
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