The Queen of Klutz-land

I’m writing this without benefit of the right-side shift key, so if I miss any capitalizations, that’s why. I’m trying to compensate, but… And I had a hard time finding a split-arrangement keyboard that last time I had to replace one. (sigh)

Anyway, I have–after lo, this many years–decided that I must be the ruling monarch of Klutz-land. I am amazed that I have not killed myself, given all the things I’ve tripped over, fallen into, onto, between and down. The latest only reinforces the idea. I tried to step from one bathmat to the other in the in-laws upstairs bathroom, missed and went down in slow motion. Lovely bruise on the left knee, missing bits of skin on the right pinky fingers. (Owie!) The twisted knee is all better today.

I started my career as Queen of the Klutzes at an early age. I have vision issues which include poor depth perception, which explains much of the tripping-over-curbs, but cannot explain turning a swingset over on myself at the tender age of five or so…or flipping upside down in my sea-horse swim ring at about the same age. Then there was the young man in college whose face I pitched into when I lost my balance just as he was about to kiss me good night. And the Weimeraner that ran me down on the one day I wore a skirt to class that week (A short one!) in the middle of the mall where pretty much every student on campus passed that time of day. I was so embarrassed I didn’t even get the name of the guy who helped me up.

In later years after I married and had children, I graduated to greater things. Like the time I took a header down the steps in church, between Sunday School and church, when everyone was moving past the stairs I fell down. I didn’t just fall. I held on tight to the bannister, my head went down, my feet went up, and I did a lovely 360-degree flip, sliding the last few steps to land on the floor at the feet of the District Judge with my skirt up around my waist. Never jumped to my feet so fast in all my life.

I learned that I really cannot judge distances very well, and when stepping from one thing to another, like from a bus to the curb, or from a boat to a dock, I really ought to grab hold of something to be sure I know where everything is. But once, when we had an actual slip for our skiboat (before the motor gave up the ghost), I thought I could get off the boat while carrying the big waterski. The boat was tied up in the slip, front and back. How hard could it be? So I gauged my distance, calculated the size of the step I needed to take, held on tight to the ski and promptly fell between the boat and the dock. Only one leg went in the water, I came out with nothing more than bruises, but I learned my lesson. I make somebody come take my hand before I get off the dang boat, or I go off the side into water with nobody around.

Has nothing to do with writing, but lots to do with life. Besides, when there are little bits missing from the skin over your typing fingers, it Hurts!

Still working on the synopsis for Devil in Blue Jeans…