Ow.

You know what I hate? I hate it when you're in some crappy, dimly lit bar and as you're walking to the door to go home, you trip over the completely unmarked, dark-carpeted four-inch step that visually stands out from the rest of the floor in no way, and you completely bite it, going down hard and sending your purse flying, and the nice gay man who helps you up has that "Oh, you poor drunk" look in his eyes, and you know that everyone is thinking "Hey, have another!", and you want to put on a big flashing sign that says "I'm not even close to drunk, this is a poorly constructed floor!"

But there are no such signs, and it doesn't matter now anyway because the end result is the same--an Ace bandage and ice on my swollen, jacked-up knee. If the pain is equivalent to the level of damage done, moving in two weeks will be lots of fun.