Falling

I haven’t been writing because I don’t really have anything nice to say, and then I thought why not share the joy?

Aren’t you glad?

So yesterday I tripped over the puppy gate and fell, in hi-def slo-mo, flat on my knee. It was like a cartoon really.  I just kept falling.  I would think I caught myself but no, there was still more falling to be done.  I am sure the entire fall took five minutes, at the very least. Or time stood still just for me.  Whichever.  Finally I landed with a crash and an ooooof on my knee and my shoulder, my ass sticking straight up in the air and my face firmly planted in the stack of reports I’ve been ignoring on the floor of my office.

I managed to haul myself up off the floor before people came in to see what all the crashing of heaters and stacks of files was about, thank the baby Jeebus.  I also managed to plaster a “no really, I’m ok” look on my face while going “oh holy fucksticks, did I break me knee?” in my head.   You know how that is – never let them see you cry.  Shake it off, baby.

Probably worse than feeling like my knee was the size of a basketball was noticing that, aside from two little scrapes where the carpet tried to burn the skin right off, there isn’t a single mark to show for it.  I can try to piss and moan about it, but I have nothing to show for my whining.   If you can’t back up the whining with something purple then you don’t get to whine.  Those are the rules.   Goddamnit.  I have been hoisted on my own petard because I am the one who told the Boy that I didn’t want to hear it if I couldn’t see blood.

Balls.