This morning I made a public declaration that I am giving up soda for Lent. Tonight, as I closed my eyes I can feel the pain bubbling behind my forehead, a lack of caffeine headache.
Searching for Advil in the dark to satiate my throbbing headache when I accidentally kicked the wooden block that holds up the foot of the bed. I'm yelling curse words, the likes have never been heard before when J2 rolls over and opens his eyes. Illuminated by the flashlight of my cellphone J2 sees me make a split minute decision between cradling my poor baby toe or issuing immediate retaliation to the bed for making me stub my toe. I hunch over in a crippled, old lady sort of way and scream at the bed as I punch the mattress, the way a badly trained girl would throw a baseball.
J2 laughs hysterically at my action and reaction. I'm crying in pain he's nearly crying from laughing.
By this point my toe is bleeding like a geyser and throbbing in horrific pain, like the devil himself is milking my pinky toe.
J2 asks to look at my toe because he has First Aid training.
He flicks it a couple of times. I'm sure he was nicer than that, but I'm crying and it hurts so badly.
He starts to tell me something, but I stop him. I can't handle blood and injury. He says, "You want my medical opinion?"
"No. No. No. Don't tell me!"
He ignores my pleas, "It's kind of crumpled."
"My toe is crumpled!?!" I begin laughing as I'm crying.
He thinks it's broken, "You'll be living with a slightly crumpled toe the rest of your life."
On the bright side he made a baggie of ice for this old, crumpled toe of mine. And, at least it's not cockeyed. Right?
Perhaps I should have given up cursing for Lent. After all, if I had my caffeine I would be peacefully sleeping, not searching the blackness of the bedroom for my Advil bottle.