I did run into that wall, so what?

When I was in third grade, I went from average sized child, to a giant of 5'11", all in the span of a few months. This growth spurt invalidated every item of clothing I owned, made my bones ache, and caused me to lose any control of my motor functions (I will admit, there was not much to lose...I failed catching and throwing a ball in Kindergarten). The scaled-down desks of children no longer fit me. I would knock my knees on the metal support bars, the tops of my thighs pressed againt the underside of the desk-top.
The shock of my body's betrayal seemed to ignite a frenzy of physical injuries and temporarily remove any sense I possessed. This frenzy of injuries continues, unabated, to this day (see me vs. car & broken foot blogs). So without further adieu to anyone but Eske, I present a small sampling of my mishaps...

-I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my mom and Charlie. I slept on the couch in our tiny living room. One night, while sleeping soundly, I rolled off the couch, hitting my temple on the corner of my mother's octagonal table. I woke confused and bleeding. Shortly after this incident, we moved to a two bedroom apartment.

-During my fourth grade year, my best friend was a girl from my apartment complex named Christina. Christina shared my love of all things Prince, and had the added bonus of a teenage sister with a table full of makeup. I walked to visit one day, and was disappointed to find Christina's apartment empty. Unprepared to return home, I sat in the breezeway of her building, waiting for her mother's FireBird to pull into the parking lot. To entertain myself, I practiced escaping things by sticking my head through the bars of the protective railing. Things went well, until my 15th daring escape. My head got stuck between a narrower set of bars, and I was stuck. I waited patiently for someone to pass so I could summon help. No one did. My neck began to cramp, due to my awkward crouched position, and I decided that I was the only person available to save me. I began to struggle. I envisioned myself being fed dinner while trapped in the bars, and I panicked. I shook the bars and pulled my head, but it would not budge. I flailed around uselessly for a time, before I started to sweat, profusely. The sweat lubed my head enough to finally allow me to pop free like a retarded jack-in-the-bars.

-When I was 13, I went to my first New Year's Eve party with my step-cousin, Audra. We were in the large bathroom with a group of 10 women, aged 16-37, when someone began to pass a joint. A recent devotee of the art of pot smoking, I eagerly joined the circle. The smaller the joint got, the higher I was. The roach was very tiny and hot to hold on the last pass. As I pinched it gingerly between my thumb and pointer finger, I inhaled enthusiastically. I sucked the fiery roach down my throat, where it clung, burning my hangy ball (I do not know the actual term for this part of my anatomy. Anyone want to educate me?) The sound I made was something like "KKKCCHLAWWWKK", as I frantically jabbed my fingers down my throat to remove the foul intruder. I choked and sputtered, and one of the girls declared "Gross". They all filed out, leaving me to choke on my own.

This is far longer than I ever anticipated, so perhaps I will do one more, and continue the rest in a series...

-My new house, built in 1928, did not come with a dishwasher, or even a place to put a dishwasher. This means that I must do dishes the old-fashioned way, by hand. I have a dish drainer, to save me the effort of drying them, but Sophie climbs on the counter, in search of things to knock over. His favorite choice is always glasses.This means that I am constantly finding shards of glass in the most uncomfortable way possible. About four months ago, I moved the drainer to clean the counter top. As I vigorously scrubbed, I hit an unseen piece of glass, and it was rammed under my thumb-nail. When I tell you that the pain associated with this injury was worse than child-birth, I am not exaggerating. Unfortunately, we were also in the middle of sanding 80 years of paint off of my house and priming the entire thing, so my poor hand had no time to rest. As I am clumsy, I was contantly banging my thumb on things, causing me to relive the injury, and cuss the really bad cusses in front of my grandpa. After three days of this abuse, a shard of glass a 1/2 inch long emerged from my nailbed. The relief was spectacular.