Ow, Hank; m'leg . . .

Well. Went for a very long walk Sunday and woke up Monday morning with a stiff knee and a sunburn. By lunch time my knee was making wet-rubber-band sounds and felt bubbly and still hurt. I figured I'd just wait until the next day and hope it wasn't eval day at PC. It was eval day. So I limped over to the new-woman-whose-name-I-don't-know and said I couldn't eval because of my knee. And she said "Did you go see someone about it?" I said No. She said, "Why not?" I said because I didn't realize it was actually injured until this afternoon. (And by that I mean that if it hadn't been an eval day, I would've limp-walked around the track and let it heal on its own.) So she demanded some paperwork and said I better go get that checked out before class tomorrow. I said Okay. Then she sent me to sit on the bleachers. Which I did. And it hurt.

Then, Tuesday morning, I went to Sick Call, because that's the only time to go before class, and I walked in, and they said, "This is an illness, right?" (By "they" I mean Angela's old roommate, who works in the Medical Office because she's broken.) "No," I said, "injury." "Well, injuries have to come in the afternoon." "I know," I said, apologetically, "but I was told to come in this morning before class." "Told by whom?" "I don't know," I said, getting all irritated. "Whoever was in charge of PC yesterday. That new one." "Well, we can make you an appointment . . . " "Fine," I said, not giving a damn. "Do that." "We don't have any available until next week." "Fine." "When's your lunch time?" "1050 to 1240." "How about 1115?" "Fine." Shit; I just remembered that my lunch time has changed since then and is now 1125 to 1240. Oh well; I get out early. My knee will probably be better by then anyway.

Anyway, they gave me a waiver until my appointment, so I get to join Jessica and Tasia and the rest of the WaiverPeople, just as I have recently joined the ShortLunchPeople, and not do PC today. So I miss an eval . . . yay . . . they better not phase me back for that. I'll be pissed. It's not my fault I broke. (Well . . . it might be . . . I walked a longass distance . . . )