When I woke up this morning, I had every intention of writing a thoughtful blog post today. And when I say ‘when I woke up,’ I do mean the fives minutes directly after I woke up. Because five minutes after – when I had woken enough to open my eyes, but not to use them, enough to get up and move, but not enough to commit to anything greater than a shuffle – I left my room and stubbed my pinky toe, hard.
The day has mostly been spent on contemplations about how often to apply ice, what color my foot will be tomorrow, and how strict public places are on the footwear requirement since my toe has swollen so much as to look like I have attached a miniature whale to my foot in place of the last digit. I haven’t thought much about grammar, or character, or spelling, or word usage (beyond determining whether this is a throbbing, pulsing or shooting pain).
I have considered the best ways to limp when avoiding a certain toe. It would be easier to avoid my own shadow.
And I’ve considered how much that little toe affects my balance. The fact that it does has rattled around my skull for a while now, but I have finally found my proof. Pinky toes are necessary. Although, they could stand not to complain so loudly when injured.
I’ve had an interesting discussion with my younger sister, concerning Agents of Fate, and how far they would have to go to alter time so that I wouldn’t have stubbed my toe. Assuming the rule that they cannot touch humans, only push and pull inanimate objects to work their magic, would they have had to shove the entire house a few inches over? Short answer: no, because I stubbed my toe on a box, not the wall.
And I’ve finally looked up the definition of contusion in a dictionary. It’s a bruise, an injury that doesn’t break the skin. On the way through the dictionary, I got caught on the definitions of compress and condense, which led to some confusion on the meaning of the word right, because somehow both my brother and I were right, even as we argued completely different things. I say we are both too intelligent for our own good, but the mental sparring is fun more often than not, so I’m happy to stay this way.
After discovering the bruising starting under the skin, I have renewed complicated effort of trying to describe the color. ‘Black and blue’ doesn’t quite cover the deep reddish-purple that I’ve seen in very bad bruises.
And I’ve had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe in a public bathroom for the first time in my life. Which has nothing to do with my toe, but there was a woman next to me at the sink who very sweetly pointed it out to me, and I was grateful, and she made me smile, and smiling distracted me for a long moment. Thank you, woman in the bathroom, whom I will never see again, but appreciated so very much.
Today was not a particularly special day, but it was good. And I enjoy good days.