Yesterday morning I was sitting at the vanity in my bedroom looking for a certain pair of earrings. I remembered that I'd left them on my nightstand, so I stood up and turned to go get them. The next thing I knew, I was face down in a pile of laundry. (I had tripped over a different pile of laundry, which I should probably be too ashamed to tell you for a multitude of reasons, but...here we are.)
It was one of those really slow falls that happens in stages and seems to last forever.
"Uh-oh, I'm losing my balance. Oh wait, no I'm not--CRAP, YES I AM! Maybe if I grab the edge of the bed for support--nope, all I got was a handful of sheets. Oh no. It's happening. I'm going down! MAYDAY! PROTECT YOUR NOSE, IT'S THE ONLY THING YOU'VE GOT GOING FOR YOU!"
Once I hit the ground I didn't even try to get up. I just stayed down there, thinking, "Yep. It makes sense that this happened."
Then this morning as I was taking the trash out to the alley, I hit my head on a fencepost* so hard that a nice sized lump has taken up residence just under my hairline. It's virtually invisible to the naked eye, but the important thing is that I know it's there and that every time I touch it, I feel a little bit like throwing up.
What's the moral of this story? I HAVE NO IDEA.
At first I was thinking it was something along the lines of, "Do more housework and you'll fall down less."
But now I'm thinking it's more like, "Falling into a pile of something soft beats head trauma any day, so...live in filth forever and ever amen."
And that is the story of how I'm supposed to be doing the dishes right now but instead I'm trying to justify my laziness on the internet.
*Which is a totally normal thing that happens to people other than me sometimes. Probably.