Now this is just plain odd.
Last Saturday we went to see the band Sparks play up at UCLA's Royce Hall. (For those who care, they performed the entirety of their classic album Kimono My House as well as their most recent release, Exotic Creatures of the Deep. Plus a thirty-minute encore that ended with I'm a Suburban Homeboy.)
Now, we did a lot of wandering around in the afternoon before the show--walked perhaps seven or eight miles up and down the Hills of Beverly and the staircases of UCLA--but we both felt fine when we went to bed.
The next morning I woke up with my right foot so sore it hurt to walk. The morning after that, I couldn't walk at all, only hop and hobble along on my left foot; my right ached so severely I could barely think. An x-ray showed I had sprained my ankle rather badly--or sprained it rather well, all depending on how you look at it.
So now I'm in a splint and limping from place to place.
It's not the pain I mind so much, or even the inconvenience, as the fact that I still don't know how this happened. I don't recall twisting my ankle or doing anything unusual. How can you go to sleep and wake up with a sprain? Am I sleepwalking? Sleep-breakdancing? Is this one of those things where events in your dreams are affecting reality, as when the giant hawk grabs you with its talons in the dream, and you wake up with scratches?
As it happens, I'm reading Jonathan Carroll's latest novel (The Ghost in Love). He's not the guy to be reading if you're worried about the boundaries of reality getting blurred.
But there's probably nothing so interesting involved. I'm probably just a spazz.