Demolition Is Not My Calling

The other day I fell down the stairs (again). It’s not the first time, and it’s probably not the last, but I try really hard to avoid such things because…well…frankly it hurts.

As I am lying on the floor, at the bottom of the stair, grimacing in pain; I realize that my head is at an awkward angle against the wall.

It hurt too much to cry. I swear that I must have broken my right arm, or at least my wrist. I couldn’t move, or didn’t want to move…at that moment I couldn’t figure out which.

So what do I do?

Laugh!

Mostly to myself, but I laughed.

Why?

Because I realized that I fell hard, hit the floor and the wall, and that my neck was at an angle that should have broken it, and after all that the WALL was unscathed.

I did not hurt the drywall at all…not one mark.

Of course…if I had broken the wall I would have been pissed off.

But at that moment I didn’t care. I wanted some memento that I was there.

“Well that there is where Chris fell down the stairs again and went through the wall”.

Nothing, but back to reality…

The fall really did hurt, but I don’t know what happened.

I try to be careful, but I also know that all accidents happen when there is a level of being comfortable.

Did I feel stronger and more stable than I really was?

Did my legs give out?

The truth is…I don’t know, but there has to be something to learn.

And what I got out of this experience is that I need someone to carry me around all of the time and give me piggy back rides. I swear it would be for medical purposes only, and that I wouldn’t have any fun doing it.