Talking to my girlfriends last night, I laughed. I laughed for many reasons, but universally I laughed when they asked, "How are you?" Everyone has had the conversation at some point about what that question even means, right? (Has it become synonymous with "hello" or do people really want to know - you know that conversation about it?) I laughed because I am falling apart.
Just yesterday morning an older woman in the dentist's waiting room struck up a conversation about the aches and pains of getting older. So what's my excuse? I decided I might be hazardous to my health - particularly the version of me that doesn't have Thomas around. In the first four days of his absence, I dealt with
- my big toe was sore. Unbeknownst to me, I had a sliver in the end of my big toe. I thought it was a bruise from dropping a piece of conduit on it. Not being flexible enough to get up close and personal, I mess with it, finding not only the sliver, but a bit of an infection. I'll live.
- Wednesday I get home from work just before 9 o'clock and am hungry. I fry an egg with some focaccia and wolf it down. A chunk of bread goes the wrong way, and I can't breathe. As I try to get my wits about me, my body volunteers the right response, and the air in my belly forcibly exhales the bread in an arc out of my gaping mouth. Phew! I'll live, but I'm going to finish my dinner more slowly.
- Thursday I kick/catch my middle toe on a piece of wall board leaning in the hall (formerly my puzzle board). I mutter, "That's gonna hurt," and hobble to the couch. It's already discoloring and swelling. Maybe it's a sprain, maybe it's broken. Same difference to me - buddy tape it. I'll live (in sandals). I painted my toes, since my feet will be naked for a while.
Crazy one thing after the next! Hopefully the last of the vacuuming and housecleaning won't be my demise before Tom gets home.