mardi 15 juillet 2008

There's a hole in my sock, Dear Liza

And another one in the ball of my right foot.

(it smells worse than it looks, pee-euuuw)

Yesterday, taking a small break from filling plastic bags with dirt to prepare the planting bed for the hydrangeas, I was clearing out more tree branches when I felt an insane and wholly unexpected pain in my foot. I looked down in shock and realized that I had walked right onto the hoe, prongs facing upwards. One had gone straight through my rubber gardening shoes into the muscle. I lifted my foot up (the pain wasn't terrible yet, they say it's like that -- it's later that it gets really bad, like just a moment later) and removed my shoe, just to make sure that it really had pierced my flesh.

There was a perfect round of blood on the bottom of my dirt-encrusted sock with a hole right in the center.

Today my bottom hurts, right along with my triceps. Alas, it is not from physical exertion and exercise, but at least I am up to date on my tetanus shots.

I have crutches, but I get around better without them.

So, what's the next body part to be sacrificed?

Today is July 15

I got up early. Workers like to start early, right? Audouin was figuring 8 AM sharp.

It's 10:31 AM. I am about to call Joachim and see where on earth he is. Or Eric to ask where the heck Joachim is.

I am not having fun yet.

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