That’s it folks. I think I’m finally losing it.

Twice this past week I have stubbed my toes on assorted objects.

First happened on Sunday when my poor baby toe was clocked off the side of a chest that was for some reason in the middle of the floor. I hobbled around, asked for an amputation, in which James insisted I sleep off before making a big decision such as that. Sure enough – I woke up Monday morning without any pain and it was good that the baby toe that has a slight bend and a very small toe nail was still on my foot.

The second major toe stubbing happened a few hours ago and was followed by many tears, whimpering, ice, and me trying to get it to move, only to cry and whimper more. James was good with me – even though he saw me do it and could’ve predicted it would happen a second before I did it. Wish he had told me about that – but at least he brought me the ice and helped me limp back over to the couch.

Either I’m losing my eyesight, or our apartment is so full of crap that is in the process of getting packed, getting sorted or is packed – that I have no where to go but to walk my big clod hoppers into things. As I got glasses a few months ago, it could be my eyes, but I’m probably going to lean towards the fact that I’m not used to having all this crap just lying about in my way.

The stupidest part about today’s whacking, was that I actually walked into the bottom of the stairs. As many of you know, we’re living in a basement apartment at my parents until we move into our new house in March. The apartment has white walls and white ceilings. It’s very stark. To top it off, all of our overhead lighting is flourescent which can be very hard on the eyes. To remedy this, we’ve got several table lamps that cast a softer glow. Both times I was walking, this was the only light I had.

The side of the stairs and the walls are white, so the corner of my eye wasn’t really noticing the fact that they had somehow moved the stairs directly onto my path to the kitchen. Of course James doesn’t believe the stairs really moved. He thinks that I altered my regular path due to a pile of shoes that I had placed near the bottom of the stairs in my effort to sort things I want and don’t want. As those shoes were moved while I was busy cursing and crying in the other room, I can’t really say for sure. There’s no way I’d blame those sexy boots that used to go dancing with me back in my heyday. They must’ve moved the stairs.

Either way – here it is almost three hours later and my toes are throbbing. The last three toes were affected by the altercation – and yes, this includes my slightly crocked baby toe with the very tiny toe nail. As the last two toes are always crooked, I can’t quite tell if I broke them yet – but they sure do hurt.

All I keep thinking is how incredibly lucky I am to have hit my right foot and not my left.

During Labour Day 2008, my mothers family had their annual family reunion and horseshoe tournament. Lucky me was in charge of the event and I also got to play. I’m competitive, and have won the tournament before, much to the chagrin of my brother who held the title for three years previously. Anyhow, this year I was focused on playing and watching my partner and competitor throw their shoes. All of a sudden one was coming right at me. I lifted one leg to get out of the way, but the other wasn’t that fortunate. My big toe on my left foot was clocked right good by a heavy iron horseshoe. Almost immediately the toenail was filled with blood. (Gross I know but it’s my story and I’m going to share it.) The blood turned black and my toe was very very sore. I did some research, which stated that sometimes poking a hole in the nail allows for the pressure to escape. As I contemplated this, many other sources said that within a few weeks or a month the nail will fall off and just regrow. Of course there are others that said that I should see a doctor immediately. I opted to do nothing.

About two months later, nothing was going on. The toe was black, still occasionally tender if hit against anything and I really wanted it to go away. James suggested painting the toenail. Well wouldn’t you know it – the paint didn’t work! Now I had all red toenails and one black/red nail. Disappointed I accepted my fate. I was going to have a black toenail forever.

Here it is 6 months later and the toe is still there and still black. It has shown a bit of promise, in that the quick has grown a little longer and the blackness is moving every so slowly to the end of the toe. But it’s still really gross to look at.

Maybe I should just start over and get new feet. Do you think they still do feet amputations?