Today’s adventure: sustaining bodily harm! Picture me up on a stepstool, teetering on tiptoe to reach boxes on a high shelf, crashing to the ground under an avalanche of pink dresses. And then erase the picture, because that is NOTHING like the way I managed to hurt myself. I leave all the high-shelf-reaching and heavy lifting to my friend Lisa, who (amazingly) loves me anyway.
Nope, I was doing something even more dangerous, more foolhardy: I was walking.
To my driveway.
And I tripped, because I am Grace personified, and fell hard on my knee.
And my wrist!
Plot thick enough for you? Seriously, did someone sign me up for Survivor: Suburbia and not tell me? Is it like a Truman Show thing and there are hidden cameras in our mirrors and stuffed animals? I really hope not, because I am nursing the baby right now and taking no pains to be discreet.
Anyway, all the teddy bears are in a box, so that’d be a really boring show.
But the sidewalk cam got quite the little scene: the quintessential pratfall. Walk, walk, walk, splat. No reason. Shoe caught on, um, air? I don’t know.
I am fine. I think. It sort of hurts a lot when I walk up and down stairs. Or kneel. But there’s no kneeling in Packing, right? Oh bwah ha ha I crack myself up.
Okay, yes, I may be getting a teeny bit punchy right about now. (My poor mother, who is here to help: THAT’S the person to feel sorry for.) But really, I don’t think there’s anything to be alarmed about. I think I bruised my knee and it’ll be fine in a few days. Say by the time I hit Indiana. I’m pretty sure I’m going through Indiana. As I recall, the route I’m taking goes through some spectacularly beautiful hill country in southern Indiana. Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to be CLIMBING those hills. Just going oooh pretty between rousing choruses of "You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile."
But back to my Hard-Knock Life. The wrist, hmm. It’s sore. Don’t think it’s sprained or anything. Just ouchy. I took the precaution of wrapping it with an Ace bandage just because I’m doing all this box-lifting, but I really think it’ll be fine in a day or two.
Which is good, because a day or two is all I’ve got left. Packers arrive on Monday! MONDAY! I am doing the MOVE version of cleaning up for the cleaning lady: madly packing before the arrival of the packers. But I have to, of course, because I don’t want them to take all the wrong stuff.
Okay, the baby’s asleep now and I’m going to go put her to bed. And then I am totally going around the house and checking the appliances for cameras.
Pacific Time Is Just So Strange
Gusty Winds May Exist
Lessons Learned During the First Month of Scott’s Absence
Everyone Is My Best Friend
The New Abnormal