I was on my feet for most of the day, one of which has a small hole in it, but not through it. I couldn’t not work while my father in law did, so I endured this little wound accepting that I would be punished for it this evening with swelling and wincing. As it turns out, I feel pretty good, almost normal. 

I don’t think I’ll be able to go on my morning walk, which is a drag, but I ought to be able to spend most of tomorrow on my feet. 

One thing I quite like about sickness and pain, at least so far, are the moments between or afterwards. The first swallow you notice after a sore throat, the first even breath after a cough, the first walk after recovering from a nail-step. It’s the lack of feeling, the lightness of it that’s really affecting.

Maybe that’s what heaven’s like.