Toes

white rose in the rain
Originally uploaded by mygothlaundry

I think I broke my toe this morning. Or, because I am after all a big baby, it could just be bruised - I slammed it against the corner of the cedar chest in my bedroom and it hurt like fucking crazy so I threw myself across my bed and decided to call in late to work. Not all that late, but a bit. I have been sitting here at work putting ice on it and googling broken toes, which is of course a terrible thing to do. Naturally eveyone on the internet believes deeply in the magical power of doctors and encourages you to go doctor immediately you ever hurt yourself or sneeze or something. I don't know where the internet people find these doctors who can drop everything and see you every time you feel slightly off but the doctors I know firstly won't even schedule you for six months and secondly if by some miracle you wangle your way in or go to a doc in the box and there is nothing all that wrong with you they get these expressions of incredulous scorn and write something mean down in your permanent record. Then they tell you there isn't much that can be done and charge you huge sums of money. So I am not going to the doctor with my toe unless it does something seriously alarming, like falls off or starts to talk.

However, I fully intend to milk it for all the sympathy I can get, which I uneasily feel is probably not going to be much. Toe injuries are just not all that high on the sympathetic injury meter - people are more likely to laugh at you with a toe injury than they are with almost any other kind of injury. Knees get respect. Toes? Not so much. However, let it be stated for the record: my toe, which is now duct taped to the toe next to it in a highly attractive fashion, hurts.

In other news an internet friend of mine came to stay last night and yet again nobody got axe murdered. She brought her 3 month old English shepherd puppy (turns out English shepherds are basically collies, only black) and he was completely adorable and just like Theo at that age, which means that my poor friend is in for years of neediness and extreme barking but she will never, ever have to worry about squirrel invasions. We went out for dinner at the Westville, where I ran into my old friend Heather, who used to be my friend Charles' roommate and, it turns out, was my friend Nate's roommate in Hawaii a couple of years ago which is totally random and bizarre and crazy and kind of blew my small mind. Or possibly that was the free beer they were giving away. Anyway a good time was had by all.

Oh and in breaking local news, the Admiral's patio got run into late Tuesday night by a car that apparently backed up first, hit the telephone pole and then drove forward directly through the patio, jamming a picnic table into the cement wall of the building and narrowly avoiding killing several patrons. Not only that, but this is not the first time somebody has driven into the Admiral patio. Charles thinks that perhaps the only way to be safe in this dangerous land of West Asheville is to wear full plate armor at all times and keep your lawyer on speed dial and I think he is probably right. Look for me in the chain mail bikini.