When Klutzilla Attacks!

I know how I'm going to die. How I'm going to kick the great big bucket o' life. It won't be in a plane as it crashes. It won't be from an overdose of flinstone vitamins. It won't be from a crazed stalker fan who kills me just so he can rifle through my underwear drawer.

No, it won't be because of any of those scenarios. You see, I have this feeling, this painful feeling in my side right were this fresh, ugly bruise is, that my klutziness is going to be my downfall. Literally.

I fell last night. Tripped over my own damn feet. Traitorous bastards!

Well, to be honest, it wasn't entirely their fault. I kind of wasn't paying attention to what I was doing.

And here I thought I was old enough not to need to be constantly thinking, 'right foot. Okay, now left foot. Good. Now right foot again...'

*sigh*

I was getting ready for bed. I unzipped the jeans I was wearing and pushed them down to the floor. Then, instead of stepping out of them like I normally do, like any normal person would do, my mind wanders off to think about something inconsequential and I, under the false assumption that I'd already stepped out of my jeans, because that's the normal progression of things, I start to walk over to the side of the bed. So there I am, trying to walk with my feet still tangled up in my jeans. Not something I would recommend folks.

Now, this might not have been the disaster it turned out to be, had my brain been functioning at 100%. Hell, even at 70%! But my brain was tired and sleepy and full of snot, hence the lack of even semi quick reflexes. Normally, I would have reached out my hands and braced myself against furniture to stop my fall. Or grabbed on to the HB. Or something! My brain would have yelled, 'Hey! We're falling! Better grab on to something so we don't hurt ourselves and look silly!' And it would have all happened within nanoseconds and I would have been laughed at the near miss.

But last night? Last night my sluggish, snot- hindered brain went, 'Heyyyyyyy. Look at that. I think we're fal- OUCH!'

It's like my brain had nothing better to do than take a back seat in the Klutzilla Rollercoaster of Pain and go 'wheeeeeee!' all the way down.

I crashed. I crashed hard. Then landed in the laundry basket, which, while softer than what I crashed into, was really awkward to be in, all sprawled out like and in pain.

I crashed into the little mini, two-tiered bookshelf that came with my crappy little computer desk I got from wal-mart. So it's not like I broke anything valuable.

Yes. I broke it. My big fat klutzy self broke furniture! Go me!

A big ol' chunk of the fake wood from the middle shelf broke off. The shelf no longer sits on the little plastic pegs. But there's so much shit crammed on the bottom shelf that you can't really tell.

Luckily no chunk of me broke off in the process. I walked away with some scrapes and bruises. (Take that crappy little furniture shelf thing! Don't mess with me or I'll fuck your shit up! Booya!) Oh yeah, add to that tally a slightly dinged pride.

*sigh*

The HB came into the bedroom and plopped face down on the bed. "Are you okay," he mumbled into his pillow.

"No." I tried not to sound pitiful. I'm not sure I pulled it off.

"Guess you shouldn't leave your dirty clothes everywhere," says the man who has more clothes on the floor than me.

"I didn't trip over my dirty clothes," I said, casually shoving the dirty clothes at my feet under the bed and out of the way. "I tripped over my own feet." Which really doesn't sound all that better, but oh well.

"Oh," the boyfriend says.

"Oh? I fall and hurt myself and all you can say is OH? Where's my sympathy? Where's my 'oh, poor baby!'"

"Oh. Poor. Baby."

He was already half asleep, dammit. I was going to beat him awake so he could fully appreciate my new found soreness but was too beat up to do anything more than stick my tongue out at him. Silly man! I changed into PJ's, checked for blood (There was none dammit. That would have gotten me some damn sympathy!), then limped to bed.

I have two tiny scrapes on my shoulder that I can feel right now because the bra strap keeps rubbing against them. I have a bigger scrape on my thigh, where actual pieces of skin came off! (And yet no blood, dammit!) And I have what I hope turns out to be a real nasty looking bruise on my side, towards the back, right above the butt area. I can feel the bruise right now. It's a dull ache, annoying, constantly reminding me what a klutz I am. As if I've forgotten. Gah! If I lean back in my chair it really hurts, so no leaning back for me today. Right now the bruise is red and blue, with a little bit of purple to it. Hopefully by tonight its got some yellow too so it looks ultimately pitiful. Then I can go up to the HB and say, "See! Ouuuuuuuch.'

Then I'll give him some sympathy for the HUGE knot that's still on his leg from the fall off of his motorcycle. You know, so he doesn't feel left out of the sympathy party.

You know, I don't think that fortune cookie fortune has ever rang truer.