grace be not my name

I'm excessively clumsy. I spill food on myself in approximately 2 out of every 3 meals, and I still insist on wearing white shirts. I trip when there is nothing to trip over. I slip even when the ground is made out of gravel.

Graceful is a word that has never and will never be used to describe me.

I have a large blue excercise ball in my room. Um, I did not realize the irony of my color choice until just writing that last phrase. Anyway, yes, excercise ball. It rolls around my room, often taking permanent position near my bed. The other day I got up in the morning, swung my feet over the bed and got up. And in my universe where gravity does not exist and vertigo is the name of the game, somehow I slipped ONTO the excercise ball and basically rolled off of it onto the floor.

Having trouble imagining it? Yeah, I'm having trouble accepting that it really happened. I don't know how, I don't know why, but it was truly a moment of slapstick comedy. Except that I hurt my hand.

Yesterday, I was leaving work and heading toward the train station. I heard the train coming as I was swiping my subway pass ... and decided to make a run for it. Up the stainless steel stairs. In my slippery orthopaedic shoes and my long down jacket that basically immobilizes my legs. And then ... you guessed it. I tripped and landed on my knees on the steps in front of me. It was such an impact that the stairs reverberated a pitch that harmonized with my shriek.

It was a fall that looked like it hurt a lot. Nobody stopped to help me as they were all running for the train anyway. People suck sometimes. Man, I hope I would help someone who fell like that. Anyway, amidst the searing pain in my knee, I still managed to hobble up the rest of the stairs and onto the train. People stared at me but noone asked if I was OK.

As the train started to move, I looked down and saw that my pants had not torn, which was a good thing. But the pain in my knee could not be denied. I knew I had scraped myself quite badly, as within a few seconds I could feel blood start to flow. I limped home, and took off my black pants to reveal ... my long underwear. Haha. Don't laugh. My thermal did have a large blood stain, and when I took them off I saw that I had skinned my entire knee.

I skinned my knee. I SKINNED my knee. How old am I? Seven? As I stared at my leg I had a flashback to the last time I remember skinning my knee. I was just about seven or eight and was riding my bike down the street. I distinctly remember holding nintendo cartridges in one hand and trying to steer the bike with my other. My guess is I was going to a friends house, but the memory is hazy. Anyway, yes ... so I fell off the bike and skinned my knee. I went home and my mom cleaned the wound and put a band-aid on it and kissed my boo-boo.

Last night, as I sat in my room, wincing as I put alcohol on the scrape and then bandaged the knee ... I realized that I miss my Mommy. And that I'm a complete and utter basketcase.