I Almost Die

I love my house. I really do. Unfortunately, it does not have central heat, because they didn't have that sort of luxury in 1928. It's fucking cold here in Texas, so I've been wearing these disgusting knitted shoe booties (with pom-poms) to keep my feet slightly below freezing.

Yesterday morning, I was in my kitchen, preparing a delicious breakfast of eggs benedict and roasted potatoes. I stepped into the pantry to retrieve a needed ingredient, and when I returned to the kitchen, the fucking shoes booties slipped out from beneath me.

I hit the ground like an atom bomb. I felt the impact all the way up my spine, and my field of vision narrowed to a pin-prick as I battled to stay conscious.

Eric had been standing with his back to me, cutting vegetables. He spun around.

"What just happened," he shouted.

"I fell down and hurt myself, now leave me the fuck alone!"

(See, I have this policy...when I hurt myself, I want to be left alone until I collect myself. I'm hurt, and I don't want to answer your stupid fucking questions. Eric can never remember this, so he's instantly in my face, asking me what's wrong. It enrages me.)

I sat in the floor and cried for several minutes. Then, I collected my dignity and finished making my breakfast. It was delicious, but my ass hurts.