Life Happens

You wake up one morning, captivated by the lovely snow. You think to yourself, hey, this is why people live here. The trees are beautifully flocked with snow and it's just a delightful world. You hum Jingle Bell Rock as you clear off your car, slowly drive to work, enjoying the sports radio talk about how your team is going to play on Sunday night football for the first time since you moved to Minnesota, and everything is going your way.

Until you get to your job, step out of your car, and fall on the black ice, breaking your ankle, and say a word so foul that you are embarrassed about it even as you type these words.

The most traumatic part of the entire incident is how I had TO CRAWL from my where I fell across what seemed to be a mile-long driveway, up seven stairs, to pound on the door of a family who had no idea that their Sunday morning was going to be so incredibly screwed up by their son's math tutor clutching her leg in agony.

I will be fine.  Some day.  The surgery went well.  There will be no weight bearing on my leg for (gulp) six to eight weeks, but some day I will be able to once again go to the bathroom by myself, take a shower by myself, and do more than squirt water from across the room at the naughty kitty when she is incredibly naughty.

I have done no Christmas shopping and have no idea how it's going to get done. I have sent out no Christmas cards and I have no idea how that's going to get done.  But I feel like I had to post here, to let you know that I'm still here, I'm still alive, and I'm going to be fine.

One week down.  Five to seven more to go.