Daily Diatribes

It’s been a long time since I had a good fall. I think it’s because I’ve gotten so old an fat that I move more slowly and therefore, more cautiously. I step very deliberately, with great care, hoping to avoid plunging gracelessly to the ground. In my misspent youth, I was constantly falling. I have bad knees, bad ankles, bad balance and bad bladder control. It’s a recipe for disaster as this old post proves. But I seem to have grown out of it….or so I thought.

Yesterday I was folding laundry. This is an alien task for me. Usually I just let it pile up on the dining room table and invite my family members to rummage through it, foraging for clean underwear on their own. I am a very busy and important woman. I don’t have time to fold underwear. It cuts into my World Cup viewing. And my Facebook stalking. And, God forbid, my Pogo playing. I have rediscovered the joys of Pogo and it turns out I’ve missed a whole year of badges. So I have a lot to catch up on and I don’t need to waste time folding laundry. Oh, and sometimes I do schoolwork. When I absolutely can’t put it off any longer.

But sometimes, when the mountain threatens to push through the ceiling, I guilt myself into folding some of it. I can piously tell myself that my family comes first, even though we all know that Pogo comes first. June Cleaver NEVER let the laundry pile up. Of course, she also had a hired woman come in three times a week to help with the housework, thereby freeing up June to starch her aprons and buff her pearls. I don’t have such a luxury; thus my aprons go unstarched. Carol Brady had Alice. Mrs. Jefferson had Florence. If my life really was a sitcom, I would have a maid; instead, I AM the maid!! I guess that proves my life is more of a docudrama, even though it has a laugh track.

I reduced the mound of clothing quite a bit yesterday. When I get into the groove, I am actually fairly productive. I folded all my clothes and even spirited them away to my bedroom. I divided the children’s clothing into three separate piles. As I moved around to add some clothing to the goddess’s pile, disaster struck. I believe this happened in slow motion. It felt slow motion:

I pick up a stack of clothing
I begin moving around the table
I step on a large bouncy ball
As I step, my right ankle twists and excruciating pain shoots up my leg
The clothing flies up into the air
I begin to fall, arms flailing, mouth open, the word “FFFFFFFF****************KKKKKKKK emerging in a balloon above my head
One arm hits the table and several pictures fall over
I come down squarely on my left knee and now pain is shooting up both legs
I come to rest on the floor, both legs sending signals to the pain center

I lay there for several moments, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Ball….Ankle….Fall….Knee…..OUCH DAMMIT!!!! There was pain. So much pain. Ankle was swelling, throbbing. Knee was on fire. Butt hurt. Arm hurt from striking table. PRIDE HURT!!! Minimal urinary incontinence, THANK GOD!! I was prone for several seconds, cursing like a sailor. Finally, gingerly, I tried to get up. The pain was intense, but I managed to get to my feet. And promptly picked up the ball and threw it away from me as forcefully as I could.

It would make an even better post if the ball had hit the wall, bounced back and hit me in the head. Or if I had stepped on it again, twisting the other ankle and crippling myself for life. Alas, these things seldom happen in real life. Suffice it to say, I was wise enough to pick it up and stick it in a laundry basket, neutralizing its damaging powers. I spent the rest of the day hobbling around, cursing life in general and bouncy balls specifically. And the moral of the story? It’s far safer for me to sit on my butt and play Pogo!! Laundry is a dangerous occupation and I don’t get combat pay!!