I haven’t talked about falling in a while and trust me it’s NOT because it hasn’t happened…the thing about falling is that when i trip (or whatever to cause the fall), i always try to “catch” myself to avoid – this is normal, i s’pose. But the times that i actually fall is when i realize “shit – this is not going to work” and i just resign myself to hit the ground and hope that i don’t hurt myself or land on my face.
That happened one morning last week…i’m really not sure what the hell happened but i knew that the fall had potential to be a great disaster. I think that I’ve mentioned before that I’ve noticed that it’s almost as if my legs need to warm up before they work “properly”, so who knows just how shaky I was that morning. All i know is that I was somewhere between the porcelain goddess and the sink which had more stuff than usual around it and so there was no telling how the tumble could end. I tried, I tried, I tried to hold on to something/anything to balance and then eventually, i said, “fuck it, i’m going down!” It wasn’t as disastrous as I’d anticipated, but there was a helluva lot of noise. My mother said (yes she’s back) that it was the fastest that she’d ever climbed stairs (she was downstairs in the kitchen and heard the noise).
By the time she got to me, I was already down – of course – and had decided that i was going to finish brushing my teeth before even bothering to try to get up. And the end of it all, I only had a bruised thigh to show for it – could have been MUCH worse!
