So today I fell off the deck. The deck we've had since 2007. Ten years. I've gone up and down at least 10 times a day, 365 days, 10 years, 36500 times. And today I missed a step. You know that feeling of impending doom when you miss a step? Your life flashes before your eyes and you do all sorts of crazy acrobatics to keep from hitting the ground. You look like the Wacky Waving Arms Inflatable Guy.
Dancing frantically, I managed to keep my feet on each step going down. The top of my feet, the sides, and at one point, I think the tops of my toes. My only thought was, "Don't go down. Max will pee on you." I got both feet on terra firma, but kept going off balance, staggering and flailing. Now I looked like Kermit trying to line dance. But I didn't go down. At my advanced age, I could have gotten seriously hurt, right? Broken a hip or something, and that just wouldn't do.
I finally got myself under control, stopped and assessed my condition. Upright, check. Nothing broken, check. I'm good, right? Wrong. I feel like I've been in a serious wreck. My neck and shoulders are Whiplash Central. I'm strained and twisted all the way down my left side. And my left ankle is roughly the size of a cantaloupe. But not broken. I think. I went on to pick up the Cute Chicks, grateful for God sparing me from a nasty fall and thinking I wouldn't feel the full brunt of my valiant effort to stay upright. I was wrong. By the time I got to the school and tried to get out of the momvan, my body was telling me to fuck off. My ankle wouldn't hold me up, my back was screaming, and I couldn't turn my head to the right. I somehow got the chicks home and unloaded, but couldn't get up the steps to the deck, and I seriously contemplated sleeping in the van. It took me about 20 minutes, two Tylenol and a muscle relaxer to get up and in the house.
So here I sit, in a relaxed haze with moist heat on my back and ice on my ankle and a storm front building around my ass. And I still don't know what started my downfall.