Ohhhhh, My Joints!

You might think that a thirty-year-old is too young to complain of arthritic joints.

That is where you would be wrong.

Although I have not officially been diagnosed with arthritis yet, I know that I've got it. Or that I'm going to get it.

It's like this: I am a clumsy clumsy person. I have sprained myself many times, in many different areas. I am still feeling the effects of said injuries, from my first sprained wrist at age five, to when I banged my toe really hard on the stairs this morning. I have the disgusting knee sounds that are not dissimilar to stepping on a sheet of bubble wrap. (Cartilage and I parted ways many years ago).

Though I have suffered many injuries, I have only actually broken a bone one time. I think this is because I drink milk like it's going out of style. (I also give milk credit for my great teeth and hair. Seriously. My teeth are AWESOME).

But every time I go to the emergency room for my new round of x-rays and my new pair of crutches, they always say the same thing: "It's better to have a break than a sprain." Breaks, apparently, heal and everything is just beautiful. Sprains, though ... sprains stick around, and you feel 'em every winter FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

It's cold in my house. It's cold outside. In short, it's cold everywhere, and the cold is killing my joints. I for real have been staring at my left foot all day, examining it for signs of swelling, in case I broke it in my sleep and didn't realize it, because IT HURTS.

It appears to be normal, or as normal-looking as a deformed foot should be.

I know that my right ankle will probably start to throb tomorrow, and during the rest of the week, my right knee, then my left knee, and then my left shoulder will all join together in the Chorus of Pain.

And just think: it'll be even worse next year.