But I've been waylaid. And getting my stories out there, like or hate 'em, isn't going to be as easy as passing gas in a crowd while darting an accusing look to the poor soul next to me.
Last Thursday I broke my darn leg. "Darn" being the "left" leg. And instead of spending my summer days leaping and twirling across grassy meadows, in dresses with intricate floral patterns, laughing with sunlight on my exposed white teeth, I am lying in bed with a open-toe fiberglass cast that slinks up my thigh higher than any boot it's ever worn.
And as much as I love to talk on and on about myself, re-telling the tale of how I busted myself is, well, these days, exhausting.
Actually most everything is exhausting. Putting a sock on my good foot: exhausting. Sitting up to take a sip of water: exhausting. Whimpering to my dutiful husband, "Can you fluff my pillow a bit -- no wait, that's too much -- just a gentle fluff is enough -- more on the left the left the other left!!" is all just incredibly exhausting.
That said... I think I need a nap.
