I pulled out the bottom drawer all the way, in search of something that was not there, and out it dropped--the whole drawer, stuffed full--squarely and woodenly, right onto my two big toes. On a different day I probably would have just sat down and cried, but tonight I calmly told myself at least nine times how much that hurt, while I put the drawer back. It really did hurt. I have a nice little blood blister, now, to prove it.
Inspired by my sister, I put on my beloved Shoes of Possibility and took off for a run after sunset. My toenails throbbed as though they wanted to fall off, but I hauled my sorry ass around a good loop, passing an armful of bunnies and a couple slow-moving trains. Watching my shadow run ahead of the streetlights, I saw that I did not appear to be the side-winding old man that I felt like I was. After a moment's hesitation I climbed the Tower Hill on a path too dark to see, nearly tripping over a band of light, took in the skyline for a few breaths and came down the other side, toward home.
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