Last week I talked about a sense of foreboding that I had. Turns out I'm not crazy, and the Lord did have something extra special in mind for me...
A hurt ankle.
On the trial spectrum, a hurt ankle is not the worst thing that could of happened, but it's not super low either. Especially living in Rexburg during the winter.
I live on the 3rd floor of my apartment complex, on top of a hill, in a town where it snows regulary, across the street from a big campus, with my classes spread out on said campus, with some of those classes upstairs. I guess I'll finally get to use the elevator.
I've always taken the stairs, not just because I need to, (you've seen me...) but also because I heard once that until the day he died, President Hinckley took the stairs. I figured that if a 90+ man can do it, I can too.
My injury follows my attempt to get involved and be a little active. During my dodge ball game last night, I was the last one standing on my side. I was dodging left and right trying to miss the balls thrown by the beefy guys on the other team. I succeeded for a while too. Until the inevitable happened.
I. Didn't. Dodge. The. Ball.
I was struck.
Wounded.
Maimed.
I was out.
While trying to dodge the fatal blow, I jumped to the left hoping to miss it. But when I landed, my ankle decided that it was tired of holding me up and quit. No two weeks notice or anything.
So now I am lying on my bed, feeling sorry for myself as I prepare to crawl to the bathroom and commence cleaning for clean checks.
Moral:
Look out for those beefy dodge ball players, they play dirty.
