I have this problem where I’m often not very careful with my body and I hurt myself daily. I walk into things and I trip over and I bash myself more frequently than most people, I think. I get silly bruises on my hands and arms and shins because I bumble about, not keeping track of the whereabouts of my extremities, and end up saying ‘ouch’ more times a day than I say ‘hello’.
Anyway, the latest incident involved me walking very carefully in the dark on cobbles so as not to twist my ankle, because I knew that was something that was very likely to happen to me because, well, you know what I’m like. And then at the end of the path there was a little step. Now either I didn’t see it, or I misjudged its height…I don’t know. But my ankle (which is weak anyway because it has been broken, sprained and twisted many times before) gave way underneath me and that was the end of my night. I was visiting a friend, and had been looking forward to that weekend for a long time. And it was nice to be away from home again, and to be having fun with some lovely people. But the way my ankle felt, I knew I wasn’t going to have anymore fun. So I let my friends carry on enjoying their night while I got a taxi and went back to my friend’s flat, and proceeded to cry for a good hour afterwards.
That was Saturday night. It’s now Tuesday night and while it’s still very tender and hurts when I wiggle it in certain positions, I can walk fine and will be back to work tomorrow. It wasn’t the pain that really got me down, it was the frustration, and annoyance at myself. That split second moment between having a good time and having a horrible time. If I had just kept my wits about me for one more second. But maybe I don’t want to spend all my time looking at my feet. Maybe I want to wander about the place and look where I’m going and smile at people rather than having to keep an eye on my feet all the time so they don’t decide to collapse beneath me.
Anyway, next stop: physiotherapy. And a bodysuit made of bubblewrap.