I know, I know. I have been quiet of late. I would like to blame it on my injury, but that would make little sense. Tuesday, I decided to take Goblin on an extended walk in Central Park. We found a nice pine-shaded area near the Great Meadow that was filled with entrancing smells and a squirrel or three. After a sufficient amount of time (sufficient for me; Goblin would have set up housekeeping were it in her power), we headed for home.

We were walking down a grass-covered hill when, the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the ground, one knee smeared in mud and the corresponding foot sizzling with pain. I thought I had twisted my ankle; in any case, I could put no pressure on it. Goblin looked delighted. I think she has decided to eliminate me.

I sat on a manhole cover and called Rob on my mobile phone. He was sweet. Did I want him to come and get me? No. Just to talk to me until I could figure out whether I could walk home. During the conversation, I experimented with hobbling around: possible, but not without a great deal of pain, which localized in a band around my foot, not my ankle after all. I began the trek home. Rob told me to put ice on my foot and elevate it when I got there, neither of which I did. Nonetheless, the pain faded over the next few days. I even did three miles on the treadmill yesterday. Last night, however, while giving Goblin a bath, I seem to have re-injured it by putting weight on it wrong while standing up.

Regardless of the state of my foot, and dramatic as it would be to do so (I could use the sympathy!), I cannot blame it for my lack of blogging. I have had a lot of work deadlines and errands this week.

Yesterday, fed up with it all, I took an extended break to go to the gym, and I met Joe for tea afterward. At Drip, he showed me his progress in hieroglyphs, and we decided to go across the street to paint mugs at Our Name Is Mud. This is a shop that provides objects of raw pottery that one may come in and, for an extraordinary fee, paint to one's own specifications. They then glaze and fire them, and the objet are ready for pick-up in a week. Thursday and Friday nights are "adult nights," and the establishment provides free wine to lubricate the gears of artistic inspiration. I painted red and orange flames on a teacup and saucer (the first in a set inspired by the elements, not by anything diabolical), and Joe worked on beautiful mug that he crafted to look like the wall of an ancient Egyptian pyramid.

It occurs to me that I mention Joe a lot, and one might get the idea that he is my only friend. He is certainly one of my dearest friends and one of the most delightful people I know, but I do have a few others. Two nights ago, I dined with Tiffany and Jeanette on the Lower East Side before going up to midtown for my friend Anna's birthday party. It was supposed to be in a bar called Trailer Park (people have parties in bars in New York City because our apartments are so small), but it was full, so they redirected people to another bar, which was also full. After Rob and I could not find her there, we finally located her at a third bar, which was not full, but by the time we arrived, it was time for us to go home. Which is fine because I hate parties and I hate bars, and I exponentially hate parties in bars, but it was lovely to go and show my support.

If only my flaming teacup had been done then, I would have made a gift of it.