Two months ago, I was taking a routine and mandatory training, and I fell and broke my femur in four places while running in the grass. I spent a week in the hospital, two weeks in in-patient rehab, and just started a new job domestically his week (I’m teleworking until I can actually walk again).
My new job is awesome. I’m thrilled that I’m not going to spend a year apart from my spouse and kids. I’m appalled at how expensive Washington, DC is. I’m dreading the arrival of all of our personal effects from Malabo because we don’t have space in our (delightfully) small house. I love the fact that i could get a sweetened coffee dessert drink delivered to my house on the first day of work. And I’m really enjoying the fact that I can order something online and it shows up at my house days later instead of weeks later. America, man.
I have moved on from, “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” to, “This is the most absurd thing that’s ever happened to me.” And I still have no time for people who want me to count my fucking blessings. FOUR FUCKING BREAKS. ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. You are welcome to call them blessings behind my back– I am calling them one of life’s absurdities, and just trying to get back on my feet again, literally.
So that’s it. That’s the update. If you’re in town, please invite yourself over. I’d love to see you.