Can you tell which toe I've fractured?

According to the Kübler-Ross model, there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. While I'm lucky enough to have not lost anyone that close to me recently to have to experience the Kübler-Ross model, I am experiencing a whole different model all together.

It started with denial too - I was in shock. I had hit my toe harder than I usually do, and the toe didn't feel right. It already had started to swell. Instead of anger, I started bargaining with God - tell me my toe isn't broken and I'll try not to give my mother the cold shoulder when she decides upon herself to dump one of my several-hundred-dollar dresses in the wash and have it shrink on me. And then when my boyfriend was frolicking with turtles and I couldn't because my toe was swollen to twice its size, I was depressed.

Now, I'm just pissed off. I can't walk as fast as I normally do, getting anywhere would take twice the time, my buddy splint keeps slipping off. And I have to wear flats.

Tomorrow marks four weeks of my living in flat sandals and/ or flip flops. That's twenty eight days. Twenty seven since I broke my toe, because I broke it on the second day of our vacation, but twenty eight since I've worn anything with a heel, or with my toes covered.

Twenty freakin' eight.

In the last twenty eight days, I've had a friend pass away, I've had a friend move to another country, I've got a new client, I've finished reading a book. But I am still rotating between two Havaianas that will be so incredibly worn out after I've recuperated from this fracture. You probably wouldn't even realise they're flip flops. They'd look like rubber bands.

In the past twenty eight days, I could probably have worn a different shoe a day from my shoe collection and not run out of shoes until the end of the month if I hadn't broken my toe.

I am repulsed at the sight of my feet. I am disgusted by the sight of flip flops. I have a gorgeous pair of heels I bought on sale at River Island just a few days before Christmas that I'm dying to wear but I can't because I have to live in flats.

I can't even tell you how depressing it is to put on a sprightly pink frock, a frothy white tulle petticoat underneath, my hair in perfect 50s' curls AND I HAVE TO PUT ON FLIP FLOPS. My sense of style has changed - my desire to dress up is now at an all time slump. I haven't ran in a month, I feel like a stump when I throw on midi dresses and not wear heels with them. It's just depressing.

How people live in flip flops is just beyond me. It's just a big sloppy mess. I can't wait till I can wear covered shoes again. And then heels again. I will never take wearing shoes for granted ever. EVER.

Now, gimme some milk and get my bone growin' already.