I Broke My Fucking Toe

The Piggy Who Had Roast Beef. Just trying to step on the pedal of the trash can, I swung my left foot into the train case I'd evidently left too proximate to the trash can.


Trying to step on the pedal of this:

I slammed into the side of this:

(photo not to scale, it's actually the size of a barn, or must be, if I can't get my foot past this to step on the pedal of a stupid trash can)

It's not too bad. It's sore, and the bruising has already faded, so it must have been just a wee tiny crack.

The last time I did this, I walked my right foot into a cinder block. Broke the *hell* outta that toe, The One Who Had None. It was twisted to the right, so I had to get that fixed.

I went to the school clinic (whilst in college) and they had me see the almost-retired, grizzled ol' doc who must have thought I was a big ol' baby. They x-ray'ed my foot and it showed a gorgeous, teeny spiral fracture.

The doc came in and all he said was, "It's broken." He shot my toe full of something numbing, then took the pen out of his front pocket, I thought to write down some important notes about the severity of my injury. He put the pen under my toe and twisted it back into place, using the pen as a brace.

It worked! All I cared about was that my toe not end up horribly disfigured, ruining my chances of becoming a foot model. Foot modeling was going to be my way out. My bread and butter. I couldn't let my dream die.


I might take a medical leave from work. I can't do my job, sitting at a computer and in meetings, with a broken toe. I need at least six weeks at home to heal and cope with my disability. And to give myself a proper pedicure.