July 25, 2011

"everyone will be looking at my feet..."

I shut my toe in a door today.

I have really strong toenails, and it hurt enough to cripple my mind so that I forgot every swear word I know - I just knew it hurt. But when blood started to seep out of my toe onto my flip flop, I got a little scared. I thought I was home alone, and this scared me too, but when I looked out the window I saw Jason's car. I limped up to his room, crying softly, and told him what happened.

"I shut my toe in the door," I murmured. "It's bleeding and I don't know what to do."

He hugged me. "It'll be okay," he said.

I raised my voice a little bit. "It won't be okay! What if it falls off?!"

"It probably won't."

For some reason, this answer frustrated me. I am not a best-case scenario person. I like to know the worst that could happen so that when it doesn't, I feel better. I wrenched myself out of his embrace and realized that I wouldn't feel better until I fully expressed my emotions in the moment. So I started yelling, and with the yelling I started crying harder.

"I just wanted to go to the gym," I garbled loudly. "My intentions were completely innocent! I JUST WANTED TO RUN A FEW MILES! What if my toenail turns horribly ugly? I HAVE A WEDDING IN FOUR WEEKS!"

Jason helped me into my room and I sat on the edge of my bed, still sobbing and shouting gibberish.

"Even if it does, no one will be looking at your feet," he offered.

"YES. THEY WILL." (I say that just because I am the type of person that goes to a wedding and examines everyone's feet. I realize probably no one else in the whole world does this.)

By this time, my dad was coming up the stairs. I guess he was out mowing the lawn and heard me loudly expressing my displeasure about my day, and it concerned him. After Jason and I pooled our efforts to tell him what happened, since I was still very upset and not a good storyteller, my dad felt around on my toe to make sure it wasn't broken. At least I think that's what he was doing. Then he sent Jason to get some Band-Aids, wrapped my toe tightly, and said there is a good chance it will be fine.

I gave up on going to the gym for several reasons - the first being that I was still crying for a long time after this happened, and I didn't feel that I should be driving; the second being that a half-hour had gone by and I wouldn't have had time to sufficiently work out before I had to to go to work, and the third being that I just wanted to lay around and feel sorry for myself for awhile. So I did. I cuddled my body pillow and watched Monk and ate some dark chocolate. But it didn't really help me feel better. I actually still don't really feel better.

The point I guess I am trying to make is that even when we slam our big toes in big mean doors, we have to just wrap them, cry for awhile, wash our faces and go to work. Life goes on.

Also, I hate irony.

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