Well...

...how much of an idiot am I?

I was pottering about at my parents' house this evening, making a vegetable stock for the soup I'm planning to cook up later in the week when I realised it was 10 o' clock and I was about to miss Law & Order (shut up, it's my favourite show). So I dash from the kitchen into the living room to set the video, and bam! I run right into the armchair. Two toes go right, three toes go left, I go down. And not in the fun way.

I've lived in this house for 23 years. The chair has pretty much always been in the same position. I have never once bumped into it before. But anyway...

I'm on the floor, clutching my foot and saying every swear word that comes into my head. "Motherfucker" featured heavily. When I got up and limped back into the kitchen, I realised there was something touching my fourth toe that wasn't there before - I immediately assumed a flap of skin was hanging loose and there would be blood everywhere. Not so. When my sock came off, I was faced with my 3rd toe pointing in a whole different direction to the way it had previously pointed. I swear, the visual was worse than the pain.

So I tried to stick it out for a while, downed a bit of vodka like any normal person would. My initial reaction, being an all-knowing first year nursing student, was to strap the sore toe to the one next of it with a bit of elastoplast and hope for the best. But then I started having visions of the damn thing turning black and dropping off, so I decided to drive to the hospital. Tipsy. No, I'm not even slightly proud.

Once there I was looked over by the triage nurse (who obviously had better things to do with her Saturday night, judging by her expression), sent back to the waiting room, examined by a doctor, sent back to the waiting room, sent to a different waiting room to wait for an x ray, x rayed, sent back to the original waiting room...then the doctor showed me my x ray on the screen thing - broken toe. What do they do with broken toes?

Yep, strap them to the adjoining toe with elastoplast. I could've saved myself two and a half hours and an awful lot of hobbling, not to mention wincing every time I used the clutch pedal in the car. But that's me, ever cautious.

So now I can barely get myself up the stairs - imagine a gorilla using a staircase, relying mostly on its knuckles. That's me. I've got a dentist appointment Monday morning that I'm not going to be able to drive to without further injuring myself, my parents get home from their holiday on Monday afternoon and the house is a tip, with no possibility that I'm going to be able to clean it to the required standard, I haven't pooped in at least a week, and my period is late. Merry fucking Christmas.