That should probably be a category all on it’s own.
Did a bunch of this and that this week. Including, yes, a fair portion of self-abuse. I twisted my right ankle last weekend (not too badly).
I got an EXTRA helping of bruises as I climbed over my mountains o’ crap (DETRITUS!) looking for a stereo that I knew was there and the speakers. Turns out that the speaker was packed in one box, one speaker was packed in the humidifier box (I’d found the humidifier earlier and it was in something else’s box). The last speaker was the sneakiest component. I KNEW I’d seen it…SOMEWHERE. And boy howdy (that’s an expression – or it should be), I often wish I had a Sherpa to guide my through the piles of “SOMEWHERE.” Of course it was in the last place I looked (sheesh – what a ridiculous saying).
When my right ankle was feeling pretty much normal, I twisted the left one and hit my knee. This was one of my special “falling up the stairs” tricks. I’m so cool.
Oh, but, I’ve left the best for last. Last night, as I was maneuvering through my boxes and piles and such in the “pizza vomit carpet” storage room, I invented a spectacularly painful move. You see, you have to step/leap with a very wide stance (I’m uselessly limber, remember) over the big box of Tupperware. This puts you RIGHT ON the old doctor’s scale (you’d have to ask Charles how we managed to obtain that vintage piece). It does work – rather well, surprisingly – so if one is feeling saucy or daring or self-punishing (?) one can weigh one’s self that very moment.
Whether or not you’ve taken the time to determine your mass, you are now close to the tool box. This was what I wanted (not that I remember WHAT I WANTED FROM IT’S DEPTHS).
So I was back standing on the scale, and I went to take the giant step over the Tupperware box onto the tiny space of somewhat bare floor right in front of the door. Somehow, I lost my balance (everyone simultaneously in amazement – well, in my dreams). I did a lovely firm biff of my right shin on the edge of the Giant Tupperware Box of Death, and somehow that just threw me off my feet and forward. As there is not very much BLANK FLOOR SPACE, this means that I hit the door with my face. Yes, my FACE. At least I was wearing contacts; I just got my glasses fixed from the electronics flinging head-smashing debacle. Specifically, I hit my left cheek. HARD. Today it’s puffy and red. I don’t know if that’s because I prevented actual bruising when I iced it, or my self-abuse if sub-consciously designed to make me look as hideous as possible. Hard to say.