I started doing laundry this morning, checked Facebook, scrolled through the mountain of emails I get every day, checked the admin page for my blog and then opened up a blank word document and waited for inspiration.
Nothing. Nada. Ingen ting.
I haven’t fallen down in the last few days, no one has wronged me, I haven’t had a colossal mishap in the kitchen, The Viking has been flying under the radar for days and I haven’t embarrassed myself in public in quite a long time. So I sat staring at the computer screen, hands poised on the keyboard, ready for even the smallest nugget so I could harness it before it flitted away.
Nope. There really is nothing. I have a headache just above my right eye but that’s only interesting to my right eye. Even I’m bored with it. I stood in front of the family room window for a while, hoping something would happen. Sometimes I get lucky and the front doors of the Seniors Apartments, across the street, vomits out the cranky old lady with her yappy dog. That’s usually worth watching because she anchors her walker on the sidewalk and the dog lunges at passersby. The younger ones veer into the street to avoid the dog but the older ones become indignant about obstructions on public sidewalks and shouting matches erupt with lots of cane pointing and gesticulating. One time the canes became light sabres. I didn’t actually see it myself (of course), but our next door neighbour was happy to fill us in.
Today – nothing.
And then…..
DING!
A message from Mim. It was two pictures.
Her: “I’ve been impaled! And by that I mean I stabbed myself. With wire. At school*. The size to pain ratio on a puncture wound is like 1:1,000,000,000! It hurt sooooo bad! But it’s just this tiny little prick! In my defence, it did bleed pretty impressively but once I mopped up the initial flow my skin basically healed itself. And I wasn’t the only casualty of the day, nor the worst. One guy got it under his nail. Another guy sliced his hand with the chicken mesh and had blood smeared everywhere. It was a catastrophe. A blood bath! The worst part though….the guys were wounded while working. I was simply holding the wire in my hand and for some reason I made a fist. I don’t know why. I just made a fist and it went through gloves and flesh to an astonishing depth of about 5mm. I think my hand might need to be chopped off!”
Me: “It’s the tiny wounds that hurt the most! I read your tale of injury to The Viking and he said “For Fucksakes!” which means that he has as much sympathy for you as he has for me. Zero. I think we should chloroform him and jab him with sharp objects so he can appreciate the puncture to pain ratio for himself. Was your Man sympathetic? Because I know how to make chloroform at home now and I can make enough for him as well. The trick, as always, is to chloroform them and not me.”
Her: “Hahaha! Brad actually was sympathetic. So was my teacher. They understand how painful steel is when it cuts. Linda almost broke her toe last week from tripping over sheets on the floor and I said I could definitely see how that could happen and Brad got so mad! Like actually started yelling that it was impossible to break your toe like that. I had to demonstrate it at home and even then he just shook his head and mumbled something about women. LOL!”
Hmmmm…….I haven’t met Linda yet but I’m sure that I’m going to love her. I tripped on a piece of lint on the carpet once and got rug rash on my forehead, the tip of my nose and my chin. If we have nothing else in common, swapping accident stories and comparing scars should occupy us for quite some time.
So, I’ve been saved by my clumsy daughter and may have found a new best friend – all in the space of an hour or so. Without them I would still be staring at the blank computer screen, which worried me for a little while. If I don’t fall down or embarrass myself in public or fight with The Viking, am I mute? Is that the entire extent of my talent? Do I have nothing else to say?
…….
…….
Nah! This world is full of shit that can happen to me. It’s full of shit that I will misinterpret or misunderstand. It’s just full of shit and I am drawn to shit like a moth to a flame. Or a 5 year old to Knock Knock Jokes.