Marionette feet.

Today in my teenage angst, my worst fear was realized.

I have really bad joints. They hyperextend, they rotate in unnatural ways, they hurt inexplicably. It's a poor situation all the way around. My ankles are a particular issue all the way around. I call them my marionette feet. You know when you dangle a marionette it's feet just kind of hang there? Then when you set it on the stage it's feet land, but they're not as stable as they could be if they belonged to anything but a marionette. If you move the marionette too fast, not allowing for its string-attached limbs to catch up with itself, it will tumble and roll. Those are my ankles and subsequent feet.

Yesterday I was headed out to my favorite newly seven-year-old little girl's birthday party. Please understand that I am terribly afraid of stairs. As I stepped off the deck to go to the car, I was admittedly distracted. Apparently so distracted that I didn't step onto any steps at all. I stepped off the deck and landed on my in-turned ankle. I screamed and writhed and screamed some more. My father, who rushed to help me was sadly assaulted by these screams. My over-dramatist nature is never less of a gift than in the midst of my extreme pain.

This was most evident a couple of years ago when I hit black ice and rammed my car into a tree. My knee and lower leg took the brunt of the impact and were causing some disorienting pain. My passenger, dearest Laura, didn't have a scratch on her and was available to go for help. The disorientation left me wailing alone at the car for God to save us and someone else to come for help. Looking back on it, I can only laugh, thinking of how hilarious I must have looked.

I stumbled into the house, apologized a thousand times - also a shock and pain tendency - and we eventually made our way to the hospital. No break, but alas a pretty sick sprain, leaving me immobilized and off work for a week. Vacation, yes. Relaxing, no. I'm stranded and in pain, left to my own resources in getting around. I gratefully had some visitors this morning and they brought me some flowers. They were none other than these girls, featured in this post. The oldest is to whose party I was headed when the pleasant accident occurred. Her mom told me later that she remarked, "Poor, Hannah," several times throughout the party. I love kids. Emily also remarked to her mom, as they were picking out the flowers, "Hannah probably has lots of flowers." Sarah, her mom replied, "Really? Do you think so?" Emily stated, "Yep. She's got lots of friends." Sarah explained that while that were true (it's not really), they might not have all brought her flowers.

I'm not sure if there's a moral to this story. So I'll just end with this. Don't distract yourself with candy corn and your cell phone or you'll end up blogging on a tuesday afternoon wishing you could get yourself a snack with greater ease and feeling bad for Janelle, whose day off was inevitably taken away from her because you're not there to fill your shift for yourself.