Last week I was struggling with a pulled muscle in my back. The reason I had a pulled muscle is beside the point. Just for the record, though, I believe it stemmed from my phenomenal ping-pong upset versus CT and a couple of his friends. Seriously, I was so good that I made them look like kids playing table tennis in someone's basement.
Anyway, I paid for my victory (sweet as it was) with a backache that kept me hobbling around like an old lady for an entire week. So, I determined that the best cure for my misery besides an entire bottle of Advil was a weekend of nothing...aww, sweet nothing. I stayed in bed most of the day on Saturday, watched t.v., knitted and basically wasted the entire day. It was blissful. And it worked. By Saturday afternoon, my back was feeling much better. A normal person would have been grateful for this small blessing and I was...really, I was. But it seems my body is not in its normal state unless it is in pain. My subconscious somehow conspired with my husband and child to cause me physical harm and return my body to its habitual condition. I'm not suggesting that my family would purposely wish me ill will (at least on most days), but they certainly do enjoy the show!
It all began with PK's simple suggestion that we go look at some open houses in the area. Now, we're not really in the market for a new house, so perhaps this should have tipped me off to my ultimate fate. However, the weather was beautiful and above freezing for once, so I naively accepted the invitation. The first house was a new construction so the lawn was little more old melting snow and giant brown mud puddles. There was no driveway or sidewalk yet, so the owners had graciously built a makeshift walkway of wooden planks to the front door. The house wasn't really all that impressive, so we made polite small talk with the realtor before heading back down the precarious path. The realtor called warning to watch our steps before shutting the door and I cautiously followed CT toward the car. As we neared the street, CT made one last bounding leap to the safety of the cement. In that moment the board on which I was standing slipped from under me causing my step to falter a bit. I managed to regain my composure for a few steps and stumble back onto the board. For a split second, I thought I had avoided catastrophe. I should have known better. I'm not really sure about the rest. It's all a spinning, blurry, muddy mess in my memory. The end I am quite sure of, though. I was laying on my back in the mud staring back toward the house and into the face of the love of my life....who was laughing hysterically.
I did not laugh. I screamed in pain. And then I cried. Contrary to the popular belief, I am not a cartoon character. No, I bruise and bleed and I get really, really dirty. OK, I can almost see the humor in what must have been quite a sight. In fact, I did almost crack a smile later that afternoon as I removed caked mud from the inside of my bra. Had it happened to someone else, I might have found the whole event quite comical. But this is my life, y'all...one big pratfall after another. Those who read this blog often are witness to that fact. I feel a bit like that clown with the giant blue teardrop painted on his face. Oh sure, it's funny enough to squeeze himself into that tiny car with all the smiling clowns. But he's always the one stuck sitting on the gear shift or with one giant shoe stuck in a very uncomfortable position. So, here I am again....not with a giant shoe, but with injuries just the same. My legs are skinned and bloody. My right side is one huge black bruise. My hands and wrists are swollen from the impact with the partially frozen ground. My shoulder hurts and my backache has returned with vigor. Oh well, may be next weekend I'll be able to fully recover....either that or I'll plunge off a cliff in the desert while frantically scribbling "Help!" on a cardboard sign....I never can tell.
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