Self Abuse

I didn't realize that I was suicidal. But apparently I'm not very good at it. That, or my subconscious hates me, but only in a passive-aggressive way.

We got all kinds of work done this weekend. We got the pool opened (even though it's too cold to swim yet), we got the garden started, and we kicked off the biggest part of Spring Cleaning (a roughly bi-annual event at our house - hey, no need to go overboard, right? Spring will come back around if we miss one...).

Meanwhile, I skinned three knuckles, scraped up my left knee, whacked my head on a cabinet, and got a good-sized scrape on my toe where I stubbed it on one of the triceratops femurs that our horse-sized canines like to gnaw on.

Then, on Saturday evening, I was walking out of the kitchen, and as I walked past the watering trough, I didn't realize that one of the dogs, and I'm suspecting Tasha here, had decided that she needed to wash her muzzle rather than drink. And in the course of dunking her head and violently shaking it side-to-side, she'd left a coating of water on everything for ten feet in every direction.

Anybody want to guess at the frictional coefficient of bare feet on wet tile? I hit the ground pretty hard, scraping the other knee and my elbow. Oh, and spilling the glass of water I was carrying, which seemed redundant somehow.

(Technically, it was slightly under the elbow, a few inches down. Exactly in the same place that you rest your arm when sitting in a chair or leaning on a counter. And rotated slightly inside the arm, so it's right where your shirt rubs against it when you move your arm. Little things you don't really notice until something like this comes up.)

And then, Monday morning, I see my bus pulling up while I'm still fifty feet away and at an angle to the rear of the bus. So there's limited chance that he'd see me. I go sprinting to catch it. And as I rounded the back of the bus, my foot flexed just a little more so I could go up on the curve. The barest amount more than it had before.

Remember how I had a scrape on one toe? Something you don't really notice until your shoe bends just right, sending a small jolt of pain through your foot? Just enough that you can't recover quite right when your other foot comes down on a rock?

Yeah, I went sprawling. Sprained my ankle, bruised my hip, scraped the heel of my hand, and caused some kind of soft tissue injury on my shoulder so it's good and stiff and uncomfortable when I move it. Of course, that's not a problem - how often do you move your right shoulder, huh?

On the bright side, I managed to not rip my pants. That would have made the morning complete. (Kind of surprising, considering the fist-size purple bruise I have there now.)

So essentially, my superego, in collusion with my dogs, is trying to commit the Death of a Thousand Cuts on me. Except that I have a very imaginative superego, and it likes to throw in a little blunt force trauma, just to keep things exciting.

So this morning, I got to work, and the first thing I managed to do is give myself a paper cut. Definitely can't blame that on the dogs.

My subconscious and I are going to have to have a long talk.