The Dangers of Home Furnishings...

If I ever was wanting proof of my aging, that being other than the balding, declining eyesight and hearing, graying beard, degenerative arthritis and loss of tolerance for those Damn Kids!!, it would be the event of a little over a month ago....or has it been two months now? Did I mention the onset of alzheimer's?

I live now in a small studio apartment, which I have to admit to loving. It is nearly the right size for me at the moment, I say 'nearly' because I do have to cut some corners to fit what I want and need within....one item being my credenza-slash-bar-slash-bookcase-slash-hateful killing machine. I've had to place it right at the end of my hallway that opens up to my main room, so it sticks out in the way just a bit....just a bit being the right amount for me to forget about in the middle of the night when walking half asleep to the bathroom in the dark. I'm sure you see where this is heading.
My right foot made contact with the credenza's leg directly at my third toe...or 'ring toe', if I ever was to marry...a Hobbit, or something. The preciseness of the strike was enough to peel back the toenail like the tab of a soda can, causing me to tumble forward onto the many frames I have leaning against the hallway wall waiting to contain future drawings.
I learning a couple things during this event: first, frames do not make a soft cushion for a fall...and second, my neighbors would refuse to call the police for me if I ever were attacked in my apartment, seeing as I had no visitors or inquiries after pounding on the floor and wall in pain screaming things like "Motherfucking Cocksucker!".....but maybe they all thought I was watching Deadwood while playing basket ball, I don't know.

After three days my toe showed very little sign of getting any better, seeing as "worse" is not a "better" indicator. I had been walking on my foot for those days wondering why the pain was increasing and swelling of the entire foot was taking place. When, on the third day, the pain started shooting up the back of my leg, I got frightened of infection and went to Urgent Care...only then finding out that I had broken my third metatarsal in half.

Returning to the mention of proof of my aging, I pose this fact: I was WALKING to the bathroom that night! Not running in some desperate act to avoid shitting my bed, or sprinting in fear that my toilet had eloped with the sink while I slumbered....walking!
After years of accidents as a skateboarder, getting hit by blunt objects, a few muggings, getting struck by a car, bike accidents, dog attacks, falls and fights....I break my foot WALKING to the bathroom! Not only this, but there is the chance that this might lead to my having to walk with a cane from now on due to my foot feeling that it really doesn't feel the need to heal correctly (this is where Christina chimes in that in order for my foot to heal correctly I should listen to the doctor....and where I reply that the Doctor also said that I shouldn't have broken my foot, but I did, which leaves me little faith in his abilities).

To sum this event up just let me add that I've been tempted as well as daunted to measure my height...for fear that I might also be shrinking.