Yeah, so there I was minding my own business outside the post office when I decided to take a header onto the pavement.
Great.
So not only do I have gunk and scabs and bandages all over my chest in my quest to get rid of the cancer, I now have blood and gunk and scabs on my face.
Double great.
And the worst part about it. It was my own damn fault.
I mail a lot of books. I sell books online through amazon.com and visit the post office 2-3 times a week to mail them off.
Usually I put my box of books in the back seat behind me. But I have a bunch of other boxes back there right now (another long story) so I had them in the front passenger seat.
Why is this important? Because I'm a doof who doesn't watch where she was going.
I opened the passenger's door to pull out the container of books and suddenly hear next to me a few people talking about a pregnant woman who was killed in Fairfield. Being the whipsmart reporter that I am, I started to listen (eavesdrop).
So I leaned into the car to grab onto the box, all the while cocking my head to listen better, turned and glanced over at the trio standing by another car talking. I started walking toward the post office, still looking at the folks nearby and.....
Never saw the cement block marking the parking place.
My feet tangled and I started to go down. (Cue music from "Six Million Dollar Man" to denote slow motion.) My knees hit first, my left one hardest, then the box of books, my hands still clutching on to it. I tilted off to the side a bit as I went down, my torso then my shoulder meeting the pavement.
And then, the details of the cement still clear in my mind, my face hit the pavement. I didn't have my hands to block my fall so my face had to do it for me.
Again, shall we say, great.
I lay there for a few moments as people gathered around. I was a bit shocked that this had happened, amazed sort of. I mean, this doesn't happen to me that often. I'm usually pretty coordinated. But not this day.
Then I noticed the world was looking a little blurry, a little out of focus. Thankfully, it wasn't my brain but my glasses which had gouges and scrapes in them. I was then more concerned about my glasses than anything else.
I stood up, using the box of books as leverage, and reached for my glasses. I took them off and then, like it does, the world seemed to go silent. Then a voice rang out....
"God, look at all the blood."
Thanks. Thanks a lot. I appreciate you pointing that out.
Yes, I was bleeding, copiously as you do from face wounds. The bridge of my glasses had dug into the bridge of my nose and that was pumping the most blood, although I had a bloody nose, too, and scrapes on my cheek and chin.
I got a towel from my car and lapped up the blood. People were staring, which I so enjoy, and asking if I was OK. I was but I still felt stupid.
I sat in my car a bit, thinking about what to do and trying to look at myself in the rear view mirror through my scratched up glasses. Finally I decided to go home, clean myself up and put on my contacts and then figure out what to do.
I thought about just crawling into bed and pulling up the covers. I think about that often some days. But, really, it wasn't that bad. And I knew it would probably be worse later. So I went back to work.
In hindsight, I wonder if I could have manuevered the fall a bit so I could scrape some of the layers of skin off my chest - and get rid of the cancer that way. Of course, I would have had to have gone to the post office topless. And, well, that would be worse than having cancer ... for everyone.
I suppose I could say that this will teach me not to eavesdrop... oh, I mean, listen. But, really, if you're saying something interesting in public and I'm there, well, I'll probably still listen.
But I won't put books in the front seat of my car anymore.
See, there's a bright side to every story.
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