Gambi, libri, gatti

So this morning I finally had my appointment at Student Health to see one of the sports docs about the leg that's been bugging me since the marathon. After listening to my symptoms and examining my legs, his diagnosis was a stress fracture, but he ordered a couple of X-rays to attempt to confirm. One on of them, he was able to point out a slight bump that he thought indicated "a nicely healing stress fracture" (it's been six weeks, after all). It turns out I did everything right as far as treatment--ice and ibuprofen early on, and then no running since the injury--but there's not really anything else I can do now, except to continue to stay off it. His recommendation was to avoid running until at least the first of the year, which, sadly, rules out Phoenix (and means I'll have to come up with some other way to deal with my SAD this winter).

Biking's still okay, though, and tonight I rode to the downtown library, for the first time in ages. Nicollet Mall is the main shopping drag downtown, with wide sidewalks and only two lanes of traffic, restricted to buses.* All the lights and Christmas decorations are up, and the crowds were out. Apparently the Holidazzle parades start this Friday night; I didn't go last year, but maybe this year I'll check it out. I returned home with the fourth, fifth and sixth H.P. books ('finished the last of #3 Monday morning), and Chelsey's right: the third book was definitely written for more mature readers, including its length--and the three I picked up tonight are veritable tomes. Today was my last day of classes until next Tuesday, so although I do plan to get lots of French done and get substantial starts on my final take-home essay exam and research paper in Art of Islamic Iran, I think a bit of escapism is also in order; I won't be traveling anywhere for Thanksgiving, so this will suffice.

Finally, my department is convinced I need a cat. My friend Paul, genuinely concerned, asked me a few weeks ago,"How will you survive graduate school without a cat?" Especially with the recent mice ordeal (I don't think I mentioned that as of Wednesday, my body count is up to a nice, round 10;** I'll spare you the details), a cat is sounding better and better. "Do cats need it to be warm?" I asked Anna. "Because my apartment can get a little cold."
"No--they have fur!" she responded. Then a few minutes later, she asked, "...How cold?" I can't really leave the heat machine on while I'm not home, but I don't think a kitty would freeze in my apartment. I'm on the second floor, after all--and the mice are doing fine.

My main worry, truthfully, is that I'm too neurotic for a cat. I'm not sure I can deal with being responsible for another life or sharing my space with one. And I'm slightly allergic. And poor. And don't like being covered in hair. And don't want to deal with messes or health problems or bad smells. But... it would be awfully nice to have a warm body to come home to.

*Including the city's new green hybrid buses.
** When she sees a couple where one is tall and skinny and the other is round, my friend says, "That's what I like to call 'the number 10.'"