I went on over to Broadways tonight with my friend J, as is my wont, and it was really a great evening, even though it was a great evening in very odd ways. It was a normal Broadways evening in that I sat there indulging my unrequited crush, which is actually quite pleasant in a kind of Proustian melancholic way and then I got to laugh hysterically with J, which has nothing Proustian whatsoever about it but is great fun and cathartic to boot. Particularly when we realized how totally weird we really both are, and that neither one of us has anything that any normal person might consider as even a faint grasp on reality. Gods, it's good to have friends. And then later, for some odd reason, several people came over and sat down and told us their problems and we attempted to help. I think we need a sign like Lucy's - Psychiatric Help, 5 cents. Or perhaps we could get a profitable business going called Smart Old Chicks. Some of the problems were huge and insurmountable and all we could do was send out good vibes and hope, and some were surmountable but difficult and we could actually give advice, which was nice and felt good. I think we helped a little bit tonight and for the first time in my life I can kind of see the allure of psychology.
I went to the doctor this morning about my knee. It's not broken: I should have just listened to M, who told me firmly that it wasn't broken and I needed just to stay off it. M is often right, as he often reminds me.
The doctor (he seemed nice. It's a terrible personal fault that I look around at a crummy for profit clinic in a borderline neighborhood and then at an older doctor and think, jesus, please tell me that you're not here because you suck so bad. I invented a couple of scenarios whereby a 60-something doctor would be there - besides sucking so bad - like, maybe he went bankrupt for being so altruistic and all and possibly he was married to an evil shrew who took him for all he had and his family cast him out and, well, so on. Not like he's been disbarred or is just imitating a doctor, no, not at all.) Anyway, the older, not particularly involved doctor, moved my knee around a bit and looked at the x-rays (is it because I'm old that they didn't put the lead apron on me for the xrays? Have I passed some kind of terrible Old Woman test now? Used to be they'd put the lead apron on me even if my teeth were getting checked and I swore on a stack of Bibles that there was no baby in my future, and my knee is closer to my (barren, stony) womb than my teeth and nobody asked me a damn thing about babies today. Shit. Just bring on the fucking ice floe, already.) and told me that it wasn't broken. That's good, but on the other hand there may be something else wrong with it and if it isn't better by Tuesday I should go see an orthopedist. Also, they offered me crutches and painkillers, both of which I refused, which is how I got to this paragraph, because as I explained, at Broadways tonight to my friend J: I won't use crutches because I'm no good at them and also they hurt my armpits and make me feel stupid and vulnerable and frankly I'd rather just limp and be in pain, and I won't take prescription drugs because they scare me and make me think I might turn into a weird ass prescription junkie and/or destroy my liver because I am, as we know, a semi unrepentant drinker who prefers to treat broken bones with massive amounts of over the counter ibuprofen and liquor. I am just a medical weirdo, or, I guess, a weirdo period.
Also, I got hit on tonight. I never get hit on and so I don't know how to deal with it so it's a damn good thing J was there because she neatly averted it by telling the guy I had a boyfriend. This guy zeroed in on me and came over and told me he was in looove and bought me a drink and everything. He seemed very nice - I just wasn't interested but I was so utterly flummoxed by having someone hit on me, which never, ever, ever happens, that I just sat there with my mouth hanging open. Which I think he took for a sign of interest.
It was a strange evening all around but lovely for all that. And my knee doesn't hardly hurt at all right now but then a vodka and a bunch of PBRS and yes, goddamnit, I admit it, a half a pack of cigarettes - does make everything feel better.