Crashing and Bashing
Two Things.
One: I did not expect all the blood.
Two: I knew it was too late to go running.
But I need to run four times a week or my brain sizzles and fizzles in a really bad way and I’d been too busy to run earlier.
Running and sweating cleans my brain out. I have no medical or scientific data to back that up, it’s just how I, as a writer with too many troublesome characters in my head, and a person prone to irrational worry, sees it.
The night was quiet except for an off-key gang of geese as I huffed and puffed through the neighborhood wishing I was a lazy sloth in the bath eating cookies while watching reality TV. I am quite talented at being a lazy sloth.
I don’t know why the devious curb all of the sudden decided to wiggle and trip me up. I don’t know why the evil sidewalk extended a bit of cement with a cackle. I don’t know why the criminal cracks in the concrete widened deliberately at that exact moment, but I’m quite sure they did.
I tripped. Hard. I may have halfway twirled in the air before crashing and bashing up my knees, my elbow, and my hands. My right hand did not want to move anymore, I noted, as blood dripped from all of the other aforementioned places. I lay there for awhile, closely examining from mere inches, the sidewalk.
My phone, which I use to listen to books or music, had gone flying into the night sky so when I could speak I barked out a whole litany of very bad swear words and crept around on my bloodied up knees to find it.
I was only mildly embarrassed about those swear words as I briefly hoped I did not end on You Tube with a caption like, “Old Woman Swears Wildly as she Crawls Around the Ground,” or “This is the Kind of Crazy – Ass Woman You Don’t Want to Become,” or “When Seniors Talk and Swear to Imaginary Friends and Enemies: What to do.”
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