these are not my walls

Yesterday, when I was walking from work to Burnaby City Hall to get some lunch (they have a cafeteria in their basement. There aren't a lot of choices around here.), I hurt my foot. It was one of those things where you aren't paying attention, and I stepped on the side of my foot, rolled it, and heard several crunches. It still hurts. But, uh, I'm sure everything's fine...

This morning, I managed to drop a cutting knife on my foot, point down. My sister was quite disgusted me - "Do you know how many things have to go wrong for that to happen???" - but my niece helped me put a band-aid on. (As a side note, she also helped me change bandages and put cream on my previous-yet-still-unhealed bike injuries. She must think I'm a walking accident.)

The sliced-open foot is not the same one that I cracked up yesterday. It is, however, on the same leg that woke me up with a charley horse in the middle of the night.

This morning, when I got to work, I managed to knock half a cup of coffee - and I mean Americano that I had brought with me, not the swill they serve in our lunchroom - all over my desk and carpet, narrowly missing the power bar.

I think I may have reached a level of fatigue where I'm a danger to myself and others. Do you think they'd accept that as an excuse to go home sick?