A walking disaster

I am a walking disaster.

Last month, I injured my knee when I fell while leaving work. Once the infection cleared and the knee started to heal, I decided it was time to try to break my little toe. I didn’t actually fracture it when I caught it on my son’s bed frame (insert loud expletive here), but, even after the swelling and bruising diminished, it hurt when I tried to cram my foot into a regular shoe. Thank goodness the temperatures rose enough that I could get away with wearing sandals.

Said sandals were my downfall, literally, as I took a walk on my lunch break yesterday. I was trying to look at the call history on my phone when I caught my foot in an uneven patch of black top and stumbled. I wisely let go of the phone so I could catch myself on both palms and knees.

“Are you okay?” asked the groundsman who witnessed my gracelessness.

“Yes, thanks for asking,” I answered with all the dignity I could muster.

I turned away determined to walk back to my office without shedding a tear. Or falling again. Glancing at the flakes of asphalt, the flap of skin, and trickle of blood escaping from a small cut on my right palm, I stopped.

“Actually, do you have somewhere I could wash my hand?” I asked.

He nodded and pointed to a door labeled “Party Central.”

Whatever it takes to get through the day, I mused.

“It’s those flip-flops,” he pronounced as I got closer.

“No,” I admitted, “I wasn’t paying attention. But, now that you mention it, I’m wearing these sandals because I hurt my toe.”

He ignored my over-sharing and directed me to the bathroom where I washed away as much dirt as I could. I noticed dust on my pants. Afraid to look but knowing I had to, I hiked up one pant leg at a time to reveal the extent of my injuries. Thankful that I hadn’t worn a skirt or dress, I noted that my dappled left knee bore only indentations from the gravel while my right knee was skinned but not scraped.

I’ve been annoyed with myself that I’ve carried around a box of extra-large bandages in my work bag since my last tumble.

Why don’t you take this out and put in the medicine cabinet where it belongs instead of hauling it back and forth to work for a month? I asked myself.

Not wanting to admit that I’m lazy, I ignored myself. But as I limped into my office to retrieve the box, I finally responded:

Because I am a walking disaster, so it is assumed I will eventually need a band-aid.

So there.

Now my knees almost match.

I won’t make you look at my hand without the bandages. I don’t even want to look at it.

I know I’ve been looking to my archives for inspiration as I look forward to my blog’s fourth birthday, but the post about injuring my knee is one that I would have rather forgotten. At least until next year.

It’s never a disaster over at the Moonshine Grid.