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I’m beginning to think that my body has decided to operate in a manner conducive to slowly and painfully beating myself up. Perhaps it’s a manifestation of beating myself up mentally over all the recent changes in my life. I don’t know. You’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Allow me to explain.

In addition to the stair incident that the last post detailed, on two seperate occasions yesterday I managed to smack the top of my head against something hard and pointy.

Incident 1: I was leaving work early to drop off a tube of blueprints at the FedEx station by the airport before class. I was looking at my phone to read a text message I had just received, and in doing so was not looking at where I was going. I got about halfway down the hallway before I felt a sharp pain in my scalp, heard a loud noise, and noticed that I had lost forward momentum. It turns out that someone had decided to replace some flourescent lights in the hallway, but after removing the old bulbs, they had left the metal framing of the plastic cover of the ballast hanging down in the middle of the hallway. I managed to walk directly into a corner of the frame. It hurt, and I got a small knot on my head, but nothing too severe. The frame looked fine, though I came in this morning and it was on the floor in pieces. That’s what you get, you bastard!

Incident 2: I was brushing my teeth before going to bed last night and leaned over to spit and get a mouthful of water to rinse. I started to raise my head up from the sink when I heard another loud noise and felt another, much more intense, pain on the top of my head. The mirror on my medicine cabinet was ajar and I had managed to catch the top of my head on the corner of that. This resulted in a large scratch and a decent amount of blood, as well as a string of profanities.

And then, of course, I’ve hit my shins on the corner of my desk twice today. Lovely.

I’m not sure what the hell the problem is, but I sincerely hope it’s out of my system, or my next entry might be entitled something like, “How I Got A Length of Pipe Impaled Thru My Leg.”

Monday night, I was lying in bed trying to sleep when I realized that I hadn’t turned on the alarm for the house. I was about half-asleep at that point and was just going to let it go, but I told myself if I was paying for the alarm I was going to use the damn thing.

I’ve got a split-level house, so the stairs are divided into two sections with a landing in the middle. I made my way down the first section alright, but I rounded the corner too fast (I tend to go bounding down steps, given my long legs) and when I went to step on the first step of the lower section, my foot didn’t have enough traction (mostly due to the fact that I was wearing socks, I believe) and went flying out from underneath me.

This resulted in me starting to fall not so much on my posterior, but more on my back, given the momentum of my foot flying out from under me and the slope of the stairway. I instinctively tried to grab something to slow or stop my fall, and my left hand managed to find the handrail that’s bolted to the wall. Sadly, it was apparently not designed to support the entire weight of a person my size, and the lower fastening point came off the wall and slammed to the floor at almost the precise moment I did.

After a prolonged utterance of a four-letter word that starts with “f” and rhymes with “duck” and then laughing at what a klutz I am, I got up (happy to not be paralyzed), set the alarm, and went back to bed with a slightly throbbing back.

Maybe it’s just me, but this seems like a really poor choice for a brand name.

And the fact that said name is displayed prominently on a box… well, there are just several bad decisions here.