Broken Body

I fell down the stairs again last night. After two years of multi-level living, I still can't get coordinated. Was making the climb up to bed last night when I remembered I'd left something downstairs. Too lazy to put a light on, I picked my way back down in the dark.

Then there's a moment that lasts for an eternity, in which when you extend your leg too far, start falling falling falling, until you're finally deposited onto the foyer in a crumpled heap. In the midst of that moment it suddenly dawns on the brain that you've missed a few steps, a hand reaches vaguely for the bannister, but it's all too late, you're sprawled out with a mouthful of carpet, swearing and moaning about broken bones and sprained pride. Meanwhile, your sister appears at the top of the stairs, cackling at your misfortune.

At least last time I fell it was because I'd been walking down with a basket of towels to wash, and missed a stair because I couldn't see my feet - I landed arse-first into the basket and it was nice and soft. This time I'd misjudged the bottom of the stairs by a hefty five steps, and I have the bruises to prove it. Nothing hurty enough to justify a day off work, however. Next time Gadget, next time!