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Friday, Oct. 31, 2003 - 5:03 p.m.

Last night

Just as Bettina catalogues her perceived naiveté, I could write entry after entry detailing my idiotic clumsiness. The best example ever occurred just this evening.

It all started when I spilled beer on the cat. I wasn’t drunk – I’d only had just that one beer, and not even half of it, at that. I bumped it lightly with the back of my hand during dinner, sending it spurting all over the wall and the cat. I cleaned it up, and the cat responded by giving herself a very grumpy, very obvious bath for the next hour.

Then she got rambunctious. She’ll sometimes run around the house jumping out from behind corners at me, and is delighted when I respond by sneaking up on her in kind. So yes, I was playing hide and seek with my cat. This already makes me an idiot, but it gets worse. She’d just ambushed me and dashed into the bedroom, leaving me in the living room . Ha, I thought, peering around the corner, I’ll stand up here on the couch; she’ll creep into the room and never think to look up. So I got up on the arm of the couch. The cat did not appear. I leaned toward the corner of the wall between living room and bedroom, trying to see where she was. And, just for a second, I thought Hmm…I wonder if this couch could overbalance?

And then it did. The whole other end of the couch lifted off the ground, the arm I was standing on shot away from me, sliding two feet sideways, and I flew through the air. There was a large end table in between me and the floor, and my legs hit it hard, turning me upside down, flipping my head towards the floor. I managed to hit the wood floor with my hands (being clumsy does necessitate learning how to fall right), saving myself from concussion, but my legs remained tangled in the now-overturned end table. I laid there for a minute, covered in hardback books, laughing, my legs tingling. Then I finally sat up and examined myself.

There was a purple stripe down each shin, with a rapidly-growing hematoma on the left one. The skin had been removed from the right shin. Both legs were shaking. L called, and I limped into the bedroom to answer the phone.

That was about forty-five minutes ago. Now both shins are numb, and my upper thighs ache. But nothing’s broken. I’m just an idiot. And I think I will be very sore tomorrow.

It perked me up, though. I was kind of sad earlier for no real reason, but the absurdity of subsequent events (and perhaps the adrenaline rush of falling and pain) has put me in a much better mood. But I think it’s time for bed.

I talked to Russell for a long, long time…so I am not going to call Mary as I promised.


I’m fine, just sore – no enormous bruises, even. But the days are too short now, and I’m sick of it after less than a week. I have fifty papers to grade this weekend, so I’m sure I’ll carefully detail my grumpiness the whole way.

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