Limping Into the New Year

Okay, the clumsiness is officially out of control.

We are all aware of the dishwashing incident that almost ended my life. That was recently followed by my Christmas day run-in with a razor that removed a dime sized chunk of skin off the middle knuckle on my right hand (Sean: "Was this, like, a straight razor?", Jason: "No, a normal Mach 3. What?! They're tricky!"). That one is still on it's way towards healing, but hurts like nothing else.

And then yesterday. So I was in the kitchen extracting me a big bowl of banana pudding on which to continue to gorge myself (note: mission accomplished) when I managed to drop one of my tiny white ceramic plates on the floor. It proceeded to shatter into one million tiny pieces, as is the custom of all my dishes. At the time it happened, I was all "Ouch," but for no real reason; the dish hadn't landed on my feet. In my one moment of good luck (heh), it had landed directly between my legs, avoiding any sudden amputation of toes.

I went about the process of cleaning it up, a process that is made considerably easier when it is ceramic instead of glass - the whole thing took about 2 minutes. I toss everything in the trash and begin to go back to the pudding, when I realize that there are these weird little red blotches all over the tile in the kitchen floor. It looks like the tracks of something, so I naturally start following them around to see what horrible beast has made residence in our kitchen. (If you have seen my kitchen lately, you would know why this was not a shocking development to me. Place looks like one of those Oprah guests who have a psychological condition and can't throw away trash.)

Only, I follow them all the way around the kitchen in several circles until I realize that I'm the one who is doing the tracking - I am freely bleeding from my right heel. And there is a nice chunk of ceramic embedded in the side of my foot. We'll put aside, for now, the question of how this goes down without me feeling anything except a tiny ouch at the beginning of this whole mess, and get on with story. Miraculously, I get myself into my bathroom without dripping too much blood anywhere, although there is an excellent chance that the cuff of my nice jeans are ruined forever. I extract the ceramic with as little fuss as possible (Just one or two girly yelps. Totally making progress), and I manage to patch myself up enough to work with (lord knows by now I have the most sophisticated first aid kit known to man). But the cut is pretty bad and I can't put pressure on my heel without starting the bleeding up again. So for the past two days, I've been mincing around on the ball of my right foot like the least effective burglar ever.

Seriously, this is out of control. I am about two escalating incidents away from having an entirely useless right side of my body. Already I can't grip things tightly with my right hand (knuckle), and now I'm limping around everywhere. It's like I've taken on injuring myself as some kind of performance art. And it sucks.

Ouch.

That is all.

(Oh, and Happy New Year! May your 2007 be less injury prone than 2006! (Someone's has to be.))