Friday, March 25, 2011

Writing With One Hand...

I am writing this post with one hand.
The hand without the ace bandage on it and the one that didn't try to break my fall today.
Did I mention that I fell today?
Well, I did.
And it was a real hum-dinger.

Long story short, two of my well meaning children retrieved my hammock out of the garage yesterday.
(Where it had been peacefully hibernating away the winter months.)
These same two children then proceeded to set it up for me on our back porch.
One of the children even tried it out for me last night.
A sort of 'trial run' to make sure all was well.
Complete with a pillow, good book, and contented smile.
Until the temperature dropped and the dog tried to join her.

At any rate, today it was my turn in the much coveted hammock in the sun.
I gathered the necessary supplies one needs when planning to stretch out lazily for hours on end.
Pillow, blanket, something to read...
And after a few unsuccessful attempts at climbing aboard, I finally achieved my goal and managed an upright position within the hammock.
For all of three seconds
which is how long I stayed upright before the entire load of peace, tranquility, and me fell into a small heap of shame on the back porch.
What to do?
Cry?
Holler for help?
Moan in pain?
None of the above?
(none of the above.)

My first instinct was to try and cover my embarrassment, and gather my pride.
Which was lying somewhere among the rubble.
After a moment or two of sitting in complete awkwardness, and pretending "I meant to do that", I forced myself to scoop up the remains of my peaceful intentions and hobble back inside in search of an ice pack and a heating pad.
As for my pride?
I left it outside in the rubble.
If someone else wants it, they can have it.
I am much too sore to try and figure out where it goes.
Let alone attach it.

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