This may come as a shock to some of you, but I'm kind of clumsy. I also bruise VERY easily, thanks to these wonderful pills I have to take. This means that I often walk around looking like some sort of accident victim. Which I suppose I am, if you think in terms of my life being a series of accidents starting with my very surprising conception.

Today I got out of the bathtub, wrapped myself in an ancient bathrobe sans tie, and went to find the cats, who are currently sort of in hiding. All of our stuff is stacked in one corner of the living room, with the bookshelves in the far back against the wall and a series of shorter furniture type items and boxes in front. The formation gives the impression of being some sort of stairway. Not so much a stairway to heaven as a stairway to Jerome. Jerome has taken to laying on the very top of an empty bookshelf and meowing very loudly in my direction.

I'm an idiot, so I thought that maybe it would be a good idea to climb this furniture stairway and lift her down, so that she could drink some water and not have to face the dog. I climbed up on top of a chest used for holding videotapes and reached up to get her.

Now, we climb on this chest all the time. Friends and family climb up on this chest, and there have been no casualties. And if Bryan can climb up on top of something and not even have the lid bow, why would it bow under my weight?

Because life's a bitch, that's why. My foot went right through the lid, punching a hole in it, and I started to fall backwards. Naturally, I reached out to grab one of the empty bookshelves for support. I was quite aware of the rocking chair, the plastic crate and the television set behind me, and as the bookshelf came away from the wall I had an instant vision of my shin snapping in two against the lid of the bookshelf as I broke my back against the arm of the rocker. So I screamed and the cats came running and Bryan came dashing out of the bathroom and somehow I managed to get myself leaning in ANOTHER direction long enough to pull my foot out and save myself from a trip to the hospital.

I looked at the damage to the furniture first (I was afraid to look at my leg) and saw that the opening my leg had gone through was very narrow indeed. I'd rocked the bookshelf back so hard that the legs were resting on TOP of the baseboards. If I were any heavier I'd have fallen backwards and probably broken SOMETHING, if not on myself, at least more of the furniture.

My leg has a giant contusion right across the shin and it's also bleeding a little, and my toes are really sore but there are no splinters or anything so I'm sure it's OK. Heck, I've broken toes before and I don't think they're broken this time. I've also banged up my arm (again) and I'm sure tomorrow it's going to be a bitch walking to work from my car.

Nevertheless, I am still less bruised than I was the LAST time we moved, which is really sad when you think about it. At least these are more localized, right?

Now I'm alone in the house, and I have been given strict instructions to stay in the exact center of the house and to keep my feet on the floor for the rest of the day. I suppose this means that I probably shouldn't go do the dishes or laundry. You know, just to be on the safe side. What would happen if a rogue splash of fabric softener got in my eye or something?

Yeah, I think I'll just take it easy.