Aimee--Life's a bitch.

And then you die.

Okay, so it's not as dramatic as all that, but I swear, if I don't stop trying to physically harm myself (in a purely accidental fashion), I think I'm going to scream.

Sigh.

Yesterday afternoon, I split the bottom of my frickin' foot open on my frickin' IV pole that Sarah (sweet, sweet Sarah) left lying folded up underneath a few articles of clothing on my bedroom floor. And let me tell you, that shit hurt like bloody hell. Yesterday evening, in a moment of complete and utter gracefulness, I tried (unsuccessfully, thank the gods) to sprain my ankle coming down the stairs at breakneck speed (as I have cautioned Cameron NOT to do so many times I do believe I've lost count--it's a good thing he wasn't here to witness that particular fall from grace). And tonight, I tried very, very hard to break my poor abused baby toe by getting it all tangled and twisted in the straps of some stupid bag that I could almost swear moved itself a few inches to the right of where it was actually supposed to be. Needless to say, my right foot is SO not liking me right now.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll venture out in full protective gear in order to circumvent any accidental mishaps my clumsy ass should try to engage in. Sounds like a splendid, peachy, super-fantastic idea to me.

And that's all she wrote. I think I'll go to bed now before I do anymore needless damage to some poor unsuspecting part of my body.

Nighty night.