Everyone I Ever Was and Everyone I Ever Will Be

Foot wounds apparently bleed almost as badly as head wounds do.

A couple of weeks ago, a large lightbulb fell off a shelf and shattered all over the kitchen floor. We have no idea how it did that, as it was at the very back of the shelf and no doors slammed or cats attacked it. Mom was here at the time, so I picked up the larger pieces and she helped sweep and mop. Went around for a few days wearing shoes just in case.

So tonight, as I'm going around the kitchen cleaning up, guess what I step on.

Little shard, thankfully (I cursed enough with this one; I would've had to invent new cuss words if it'd been bigger). Pulled it out, and the seemingly-tiny wound starts pouring blood. Yay. So I leave a bright red trail all the way to the bathroom. And it's decidedly hard to hop when you're six months pregnant, by the way. Too bad nobody's ever around to film these things for YouTube.

There is a larger lesson in all this, though-- cleaning is obviously bad for my health. I should just sit here and type. ;-)

I'm pretty sure I'm one of them.

Chris and I went out with a couple of friends today to ride four-wheelers. I've been on one once before, about a year and a half ago, and only as a passenger. So today, after we've gone around the field a few times, Chris asks me if I want to learn to actually drive one. I say sure.

It was a standard, which should've tipped me off, because standards and I do not get along. At all. After I killed it a couple of times by letting out on the clutch too slow and giving it too little gas, Chris-- who was sitting behind me-- tells me to give it more gas. I did. And I also let go of the clutch way too fast.

We went vertical.

So all of a sudden I'm riding a wheelie and absolutely certain I'm going to flip the thing over, and miracle of miracles that doesn't happen, but once all four wheels touch again I realize I don't know where the brakes are and hold on a minute, wasn't Chris sitting behind me?

I look back; he's on the ground. The four-wheeler is slowing way down by this point so I jump off to see if he's okay, and the machine has enough momentum still going to hit my foot and knock me down, running over my leg. That was when it decided to stop.

I ran over my own leg. How sad is that?

Chris was fine, just startled. He got the four-wheeler off my leg and I got up to make sure I still could. Once Eric saw we were fine, he started laughing so hard I thought he was going to rupture something.

My knee is a little bit out of whack . . . I can walk fine, but if I lean a certain way it hurts really bad, so I'm going to put some ice on it and shake my head at myself some more.

My one consolation is that I'm going to figure out a way to put this in a novel.

So I get up from my chair to cross the room and get a book, and it goes like this:

First step-- nearly stumble over my purse.
Second step-- almost slide on a stack of papers.
Third step-- trip over my own two feet.

Either I need to clean this room, or find some way to get better balance. ::sigh:: You'd never guess I took ballet when I was younger.