I am really feeling my age today. I was working in my goth garden, building a dry rock bed.
As I was pulling the wheelbarrow full of gravel up and over the path steps, the heel of my foot caught the corner of the Adirondack chair’s foot rest and down I went.
And I hit hard. Backwards. I fell so contorted, that I thought I split my lady parts clean in half. Center stage, corner of the foot rest, right leg facing north, left leg south.
And the wheelbarrow fell on top of me. The metal stand came down hard on top of my left toe and split it in half and lifted the toenail off. I had tennis shoes on.
I swear I heard the birds laughing. Or maybe they were spinning above my head like in those cartoons.
I picked up my pride and walked the pain off. Me falling is like a Seqoia falling in the forest. Due to my height, it is a long way down.
I walked into the house.
I assessed the damage. I had to remove my polish off my toenails, which I screamed bloody murder because polish remover on a cut doesn’t feel so hot. My left toenail was not pretty.
I thought I was okay. Later, I fixed dinner and my husband and I went for a walk, in which I tattled on myself about falling. He scolded. He knows me too well. Doing too much. But as we walked, my body got stiffer and stiffer and my right foot started aching so bad I realized I was limping. My lower back and hips felt like meat pulling from the bone.
I took a shower and my body is wreching with pain. I think I may have sprained my right ankle. It’s pretty swollen. Sheesh.
But I had completed my rock bed. And he promised me he would buy me plants to fill in if I completed it. He didn’t think I would.
But I did.
He said, “well I guess you did.”