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Wednesday, August 5, 2009

I Feel Like My Car

1993 white, cute little reliable Volvo-mine. Yes, even though once home from school (Lucy) yes, that's the name of my car, spent many a day at the car doctor getting all spruced up and repaired for the next leg of our journey together. Which includes a new family member, a husband, my husband. 

1986 not quite white, tall crazy Jess-me. Yes, although I spent many a year, NEVER having to go to the doctor's. You know, the place where they wear the funny colored outfits that always sport the V-neck is "in". It seems that since I've come home, quite a large amount of my time has been going to different body part doctors. Teeth. Skin. Bone. Hair. Yes, hair. I think that qualifies. 

They are getting all the little, and some not so little details regarding my body in good shape and health for my own self, and for a husband, my husband. 

Why am I writing this post you ask? Maybe not, perhaps my own eyes are the only ones that will glaze over these humored musings. No matter.

The cause for this act of randomness is simply this-stairs are off limits to a girl who has injured herself so she can't walk up them.  (By her own doing-call it the Bridal Crash Course in Working out. Or, otherwise known as, "Oh my gosh, my wedding is how many weeks away??? I need to get a gym membership baby! ") The over stressing of the body wasn't the greatest idea. Certainly not the fact I ignored severe pain in my foot and ankle for 3 weeks. 

I know, I know, but I have a ridiculous high pain tolerance. Don't know if that is such a good thing now. haha. 

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