Sprankles and wankles and pancakes.

I've got a sprankle. It's not as bad as several years ago, when I fell and it turned purple and black and looked like half of a moldy grapefruit attached to my foot. That time it was swollen for about six months and has never quite returned to its normal size. Doctor friends have told me I probably broke it, but I never went to the doctor because of my Crappy American Health Insurance™. If it had been my wrist -- something I actually need in my job -- I might have gone into debt for it. But I can do with a wankle that occasionally gives out. This one just happened to give out on the stairs yesterday, and I took a tumble, and the wankle became a sprankle.

Whine whine whine.

In related news, so much for getting back on the treadmill. I think I'll cook pancakes this morning. Because I'm so injured.

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