i’m sort of clumsy. ok, i’m really quite clumsy. i’ve bumped my head more times than i can remember, and even nearly killed myself tripping over thin air. my dad always says it’s because i have no common sense. i never quite understood where the common sense came into play, but apparently in his mind lack of common senes and clumsiness are inextricably link.
the clumsiness, in my mind, is clearly the fault of genetics. when a 5’10” woman and a 6’3″ male decide to mate, they can produce a 6’5″ child. in my case, that’s exactly what happened. and 6’5″ tend to have extremely long limbs. in my case, that’s only partially true. i have sorta weinery legs. not really weinery, just proportional. but you know, when you’re 6’5″ people think you’re gonna have legs like the yangtze river. i don’t i have legs like a regular person, they’re longer than most, but i’m taller than most. my mom, she has long legs. her legs are the same length as mine, and i’ve got her by some seven inches.
but the arms. it’s the arms i want to complain about tonight. i’m not gonna complain about the sleeves that are never long enough, and, though i could, i won’t complain about having a torso roughly the size of the great plains. nope, i’m just gonna complain about the ungainliness of long arms.
see, last night i hurt myself. i was at bookclub and came down the stairs from going to the bathroom. i wasn’t paying attention to my arms and i managed to wack one of my hands right into the decorative thing that was on the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. i’m sure there some technical name for it perhaps balustrade, but i can’t remember. see when there’s roughly 30 inches of arms hanging from your shoulders, they’re hard to keep track of.
so i whacked my hand rather forcefully right into the decorative thing, and it fucking hurt. today, i know why– because i whacked it with enough force to cause a bruise that starts at the my wrist and extends up to the knuckle of my index finger. for those who aren’t so armally-enhanced, that’s a giant four inch bruise, and it fucking hurts whenever i press on it. which of course leads everyone telling me to not touch it. as if that’s an option. clearly they forgot what it’s like to have a loose tooth that your tongue magically seems to find without your brain ever getting involved in the transaction.
that’s how my day has been. my left hand magically finding the bruise on my right hand and pressing ever so gently to produce that mildly annoying yet somehow exquisite pain. and the only time i seem to be able to stop touching the owie is when i’m typing (and even then i have to take a break to touch it).