I’m blaming the broccoli. The broccoli that spilled over my backpack, forcing me to spend a whole day smelling like a giant fart and then Fabreeze my beloved Hershel bag. Making me take an ugly tote to work the next early morning. So that when I planted my funky right foot on hidden frost I fell like a weird giant ostrich protecting a tote, which in my split-second-mind was my baby. Making my leg bend in half…sideways…leaving me like some 89 year old crying on the pavement at 5:45am while a biker and four cars tried not to see me. Why I lay on the cold pavement and thought of every stupid knee surgery and broken vertebrae and the Trials in 36 days and wondered who to call to scrap my broken leg off the sidewalk until I finally could move, stand and limp into the office.
This weekend I took a tour of the pools here in Seattle, quite nice but not very accommodating to the aqua jogger. And have nearly been kicked out of my home for being a super annoying injured runner without a diagnosis. The mood swings Owen is enduring weren't part of our marriage vows. Going from "I'm fine" to quietly sobbing without warning. Luckily PJ reminds me not to sulk too hard.
I have an MRI in 30 minutes, here's hoping I'm embarrassed in a few days by my current 'devastation'. It just all feels too familiar.
This weekend I took a tour of the pools here in Seattle, quite nice but not very accommodating to the aqua jogger. And have nearly been kicked out of my home for being a super annoying injured runner without a diagnosis. The mood swings Owen is enduring weren't part of our marriage vows. Going from "I'm fine" to quietly sobbing without warning. Luckily PJ reminds me not to sulk too hard.
I have an MRI in 30 minutes, here's hoping I'm embarrassed in a few days by my current 'devastation'. It just all feels too familiar.