Pardon my lack of posts. I feel as if I've abandoned you.
This is one of the blessedly few times a year the day job must rule my life. I love my day job, I really do. I get to work with lovely people for a non-profit I adore.
But I think I broke my foot at work today.
After 2 back-to-back 11 hour days running around the top of the mountain, it was finally time for us to leave. So about an hour ago, Amanda, John and I headed for the parking lot a quarter of a mile down the hill. Carrying a huge box of filthy crap, Amanda asked if I could grab the massive 1970's thermos precariously balanced on top.
I grabbed the thermos and began a little routine about how much I hate the word thermos, how "thermos" makes me wildly uncomfortable. We got to the parking lot and I handed the thermos to Amanda who placed it on the roof of her car as she loaded everything else. As we stood and chatted, the thermos (half filled with ancient and probably spiked coffee) slid from her roof and crashed on top of my right foot.
After previously and privately agreeing that a woman who'd "totally ate it" earlier reacted too dramatically to her own fall, I briefly screamed in pain but shook it off within seconds.
"Oh, that's okay." I said though clenched teeth. "I'm fine."
"Jesus!" Amanda winced. "That looks like it really hurt."
"No, no." I thought I was going to die. "It's no big deal."
It's an hour later, I am now home and I can't move my toes. My foot's not so much swollen as it is dull with pain, a navy half-moon the shape of a thermos base throbbing atop my dirt-covered appendage.
Since there's got to be some gay former boy scout reading this somewhere, what the hell do I do? My first instinct is to get a pedicure and call 911. That can't be right...