Last night I made my best friend meet me twenty miles closer to my house than she originally intended because on Saturday, I broke my ass. Okay, I don't know if I broke it, because I can't get in to my doctor until Thursday, but I fell backwards on tile and bounced, so let's just say it together: OW OW OW OW OW. Also, I really hate driving right now.

I tell you this partly in an obvious bid for sympathy (hello, I'm supposed to be training for another half-marathon, not trying to type with my butt on three pillows) and also partly to maybe explain the following, in that about 80 percent of my brain is thinking about the pain in my butt at all times, leaving only 20 percent left to process actual thought.

Her: Have you friended your fifth-grade teacher on Facebook?

Me: What? Why?

Her: She's, like, awesome on there.

Me: My mom was friends with her ... sister? Cousin? That's crazy, since they didn't live in the same town or anything. What was the teacher's name? Martha?

Her: Mary.

Me: I think her cousin's name was Martha.

(pause)

Me: Oh, wait. Maybe that was Jesus.