freckles_and_doubt | psychodelicate girl (these pieces are broken)

OK, this is officially ridiculous. Lunch with the visiting-from-exile

starmadeshadow yesterday, which was lovely, except that in our post-luncheon wander around the bookshop I managed to somehow slip or turn my ankle on the (dead level, non-slippery, unboobytrapped) floor and wipe out spectacularly, describing a graceful 90^o forward arc to measure my length on the floor. I have a sprained left ankle, bizarrely bruised right toe and extremely battered knees, as well as a random assortment of other bruises at odd spots all over my front elevation, and am hobbling like a Pratchett crone. I feel very silly. I've also lost count of the number of times I've done this sort of thing; I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing that I seem to be evenly distributing the nadgered limbs (in order over the last fifteen years, left knee dislocation, left elbow break, right foot sprain, right wrist sprain, coccyx bruise, epic butt bruise, and now right knee bruising and left foot sprain. I'm seeing a pattern here. Still missing: right elbow, left wrist and, for a final encore, presumably the neck. I may have to put the whole thing to a catchy banjo backing and sing it).

I have no idea why I suddenly slip on a dead level floor: my current theory is an invisible iron bar, à la Wizard of Oz. Also, what's with the (generally very sweet) impulse of people to dash over and help you up the instant you hit the ground? I was in enough pain and shock that all I could do was lie there for a couple of minutes until my vision cleared and I was capable of coherent thought, but I was vaguely conscious that my gasps and vague mumblings were causing concern in the stratosphere directly above the circle of feet.

Good news from

wolverine_nun: the small pneumatic child is doing a lot better, and the doctor is talking about releasing her from hospital early in the week. In a not unrelated effect, my washing line has suddenly become inutterably cute lately, and rather given over to uncharacteristic pink:

The whole helping-w-n-out-with-laundry thing would have been a lot more effective if it hadn't decided to rain buckets overnight.

In the Department of Random Linkery: Henry Jenkins, my favourite media guru, reproduces an anonymous student's thoughts on Anonymous. It's an interesting historical outline, suggesting that Anonymous wised up very fast about direct and illegal threats or attacks on scientology, and are morphing rapidly into a media awareness gadfly rather than a bunch of destructive hackers.

Last Night I Dreamed: as an unhappy child in a boarding school somewhere (presumably this comes from reading Libba Bray for two days) I climbed out the window, pursued by a cabal of nasty bullies, and went for a fly. Drifting around in the upper atmosphere I was pleased to see that the young African prince, also an unhappy school inmate, was out in his flying Cadillac: we presumably escaped together.