1 - Misson Statement and Backstory

So,
I've broken my leg. My right fibula at the ankle to be specific. I am crippled and house bound. I have had weeks in which I have not left the house except for doctors appointments. Days and days spent indoors switching between the comfort of bed and lounge. This has left a lot of time to think, read, watch TV and generally nurture my mild neuroses.
I have established this as an account of my time spent at home, as I never intend to spend this much time indoors ever again. I hope to write witty observations of the world from the comfort of my lounge room, I probably will fall short. Falling seems to be something that I do quite well.

And with that well placed segue, we come to the fall that has placed me in this predicament.
Basically it comes down to excess consumption of alcohol, combined with a general lack of co-ordination at the best, most sober, of times. I fell, not spectacularly, on flat ground, in flat shoes, in an all but deserted club. I say not spectacularly because I have had many falls in my 20 years. A nice scar on my eyebrow, completely interrupting its shape, resulting from a spill on to the corner of a tallboy when I was 2. Scars on my knees from playground scrapes. I then went into a period of self preservation, with no serious falls to speak of, until I discovered alcohol. Between 15 and 20 I have had numerous trips, stumbles, sprains and twists, most of which I have been able to bounce back from without much hassle.
In the past 6 months, however, I have had several seriously ego-damaging trips. This includes one in which I fell face first in the middle of a crowd of professional rugby players, and my best friend defended my honour and my lack of co-ordination by accusing one of the men of pushing me over. He was flabbergasted, until she let him in on the charade, and he agreed to play along. I am certain we fooled no one and I had a bruise on my left hip the size and colour of an eggplant for weeks.
This most recent, and most detrimental fall, seemed like a simple slip. Nothing unusual for me. It was when I immediately screamed in pain, beginning to "cry like a baby" that signalled something was indeed unusual. Not to my nearest and dearest though. I was convinced by them that I was not crying due to the pain in my leg, but due to some other reason. I agreed with this logic and proceeded to tell them my inner most feelings for a friend, including the fact that I am in love with him. This, we now know are the babblings of a drunk girl with a snapped fibula attempting to justify the tears flowing freely while crouching on a gutter.
It was 40 hours before I received appropriate medical attention. I was convinced it was a sprain.
I was informed it was a break and I would require a half leg cast for 4-6 weeks. It is a this moment that the situation becomes particularly pointy. Exactly 5 weeks and 6 days from the date of the break I am going to New Zealand for a 2 week Contiki tour, ending with the Big Day Out in Auckland. I cannot possibly have a cast at this time.
This is where this publication comes in. 3 weeks into wearing a cast I am crazy-bored, calci-loading and reconnecting with God, The Universe, Mother Nature in the hopes that I can have a relatively well-healed ankle by the 30th of December 2009 when I am due to have my final x-ray, my cast removed and the doctors tell me that I am a medical miracle with no evidence of a break at all.
In the interim I am trying sobriety, getting my life in 2010 pre-organised, resting a lot, attempting to socialise from home, and writing in this Journal.
So here's to trying new things, learning to be in my own company, and generally figuring out how to occupy myself! Hooray!

- L