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

Last night

Just as Bettina catalogues her perceived naivet�, 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.

Today

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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