Skip to main content

pride goeth


I fell down some stairs on Friday. Actually, that's not very accurate, because I was going up at the time, and the falling was more forward and across -- I caught the top of my foot on a stair and then ... well, it became more of an aggravated stumble, I guess. And it was more embarrassing than anything else. All akimbo. And it usually wouldn't have amounted to much in the pain department, except the stairs were stone and I was wearing sandals. So I accomplished something just short of breaking my big toe, with lots of bruising and swelling to the front of my foot generally, and the last few days have been slow and awkward.

The other day I saw a guy fall out of a delivery truck. I was walking up Princess when I heard this awful sort of slapping crack right beside me, and I turned just in time to see him hit the pavement in a heap. And he was doing this terrible sort of quivering. I put down my bags and went over to him, but the guy he was working with (they were unloading boxes) was faster, so I just stood there for a minute while they figured it out. He got up and started walking around in limping little circles, and while I think he'll have some pretty good bruises, especially on his hip, he seemed okay. One of the few times I wished I had a cell phone.

My mom fell a few months ago. In the parking lot of a Dairy Queen, of all places. Broke things at the shoulder bad enough to have a bone poke through. It's more or less healed now, and she does her little exercises, but it's not quite the same either, and my older brother teases her about her weak, baby arm.

I knew a guy who fell off a ladder and had his eye pop out. I always wondered if he could see out of it, at the time, and what things looked like.

So the next time you fall, or stumble, or just having a bad day, you can say to yourself, "Well, at least my eye didn't pop out."

Comments

  1. And what a comfort that would be!
    I’ve often wondered if people who’ve been beheaded (Anne Boleyn comes to mind) have a few seconds in which they might be able to see & think after being parted from their bodies. Gruesome, huh?

    ReplyDelete
  2. oh man that story was OK until you freaked me out completely at the end with the eyeball thing, ugh!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. insert Nelson laugh here --> Ha! Ha!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I'm known as "the girl who falls" amongst my friends. I thought it was just when I'm drinking (I take a tumble on the sidewalk and lie there like a turtle stuck on it's shell until someone helps me up). But then I started running and fell twice and got bloodied and bruised and everything. I may have a brain tumor. But I will always be happy my eye didnt pop out. Until it does.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the indisputable weight of the ocean

People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m

Oona Balloona (doesn't care about new tables)

Well, it's Friday, and since I'm pretty depleted in the chit-chat department, I might as well put up some pictures of Ol' Giggles At Ghosts before Grandma starts sending me hate mail. Man, what a goofball. At this rate it's going to be, like, eighteen years before she has gainful employment and moves out of the house. I mean, come on . * * * * * C is especially crazy and frantic today. About two months ago she decided that she no longer liked our dining room table (take that, dining room table! no more BFF for you!). Since then she's switched the dining room and kitchen table (and all the rest of the furniture in the house -- about thirty times, but that's another story) as a provisional solution while she scoured area stores for an upgrade. And she thought she had found one, on Wednesday, at JYSK ( Whatever , I said). But when she ordered it, JYSK called back to say that they were really low on stock, and that the stock they did have was damaged, and

some paintings to keep you company

  at the stations of seeing ; mixed media on cradled wood panel, 24 x 30 inches.   $350 local.     At the Stations of Seeing I expected something on the level of poetry moving the machinery within but instead it was wreckage and difficult instructions Recursive Procedures for Life Structures and that sort of thing. IF—THEN—ELSE where the option is optional CASE, which is multi-situational DO—WHILE the function is zero BREAK and LOOP again and again until failure. please CALL, if you can, or while you are still missed. . . . I went away for awhile, for various reasons, and now I am starting to come back. Where I finally end up is anyone's guess, but one of the stations on the path of that return is a willingness to sell my art again; this post is about just one of the larger paintings I currently have for sale for clients and customers in the Kingston area. A good place to start. The prices for these works are lower because the transaction is personal, easier — come by my stud