I just found out that I've been invited to be a Fellow at the Kenyon Writers Workshop this summer. This is officially a big deal, and it makes you feel pretty darn swanky joining an elite group of writers who've shared this honor. One has a tendency to blow on one's fingernails and brush them on one's lapel. I don't know why one has this tendency, but it's definitely the tendency one has. Then I was walking outside to put up the chickens for the night, and I saw a low-flying hawk. Seeing hawks makes chicken owners nervous, and watching it, I missed a step and twisted my knee and ankle. Just a sprain, but when I woke up this morning, I really couldn't walk. I write this laid up on the couch, a bag of frozen peas on my knee.
We went to the doctor and he drew a syringe of liquid from my knee the color and apparent consistency of a raspberry smoothie. This is how he determined I had probably "torn something." Later this week, I'm scheduled for an MRI to find out exactly what.
Mind you, all this drama occurred because I stepped down funny. This is not a sexy injury like playing soccer or rock climbing or something. This is the equivalent of tripping over a penguin.
This is how I know there's a God; He's a big one for keeping you humble.
Thanks for the reminder, Lord. Message received.
