this is the way my life goes


I cut my toe on a door a week ago, and never really took care of it. Which has led to some interesting yellowness and infection-y looking things that I am adamantly ignoring. Despite this situation, I wear Chacos everywhere and just invite the germs to set up camp. Literally everywhere. And I have all these Xs drawn all over my knees and feet all the time because class and axes, and it helps me visualize.

Additionally I pulled a muscle in my OTHER (read non-infected) foot yesterday. So I have a lovely limp, which was somewhat exacerbated by the fact that I played sand volleyball today. In the rain. Which was fine. I mean it wasn’t like all my clothes are in the laundry so I wore my brother’s old workout shorts (not only is he six inches taller than me, he’s just big in general) and a scrawny tank top that almost matched the shorts but not quite. In fact, my shorts matched another guy on our team exactly. He didn’t have them pulled up significantly past his belly button, but it’s a taste issue. And did I mention it was raining. And I had my infected toe just chilling in the icky sand mud (which is now all over my car). And by the way I’m terrible at volleyball. So then I realize that anytime I put weight on limpy foot that leg will just cease to hold me up and I faceplant in the sand. Also you know what looks dumb in the rain? People with bangs.

So, setting the stage. I am covered in sand, limping, and oozing some kind of bacteria. Also wet and strangely dressed. And also frustrated because I’m terrible at volleyball and “get it, get it, get it!” and then I faceplant. Good times. So yes. Post game I sat in my car and tried to regroup my brain. It was spinning rather fast, you see. You know where I like to go to feel like I have things together? Barnes and Noble. You know what I didn’t consider at all? My appearance.

So I’m in Barnes and Noble looking for a book. And it hasn’t occurred to me yet that I kind of resemble a sand creature. And then I’m minding my own business looking for a Mother Theresa book in the Christian living section when it is all just suddenly exhausting and I sit down, sand and all, on the floor of the bookstore. I pretend to be studying the Francis Chan books, but in reality I put my wet, icky forehead on the bookshelf and drip everywhere.

And then I go home. And I’m thinking about school and friends and how this place is still so freaking lonely. And I’m praying again, but not in a particularly pleasant way, you understand. And it has been the longest day. So I just stretch out on my bed and…


So now there is sand in every conceivable crevice of my bed, my car, and the C shelf of Christian Living at Barnes and Noble. And for some reason this feels apocalyptic. Because I just cleaned every last surface in this freaking apartment on Saturday. And I haven’t started this paper that is due tomorrow, which is unreal amounts of aggravating because I had a paper due today.

And also I haven’t eaten since 11:30 this afternoon. It is ten at this point, so I remember that I have leftover pizza in my fridge. Great. I heat it up and eat some. And an hour later we are clear on the point that it was older than I realized, and that my stomach does not want to deal today (and by the way whatever the over was on number of times I would throw up this year? That was a good bet no matter what it was).

So I take a shower. And then I try to start this paper and can’t make myself do so. Which leads definitively into a spiral of frustration that ends with me throwing my phone across the room (which, ironically, is how today started). And so I take another shower. There is still sand in my hair.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s