Dammit, I fell today. Skinned my knee a bit and cracked my phone, though it still works. I did not tear my jeans, which is a win.
This is my third fall of the year. Sometimes I fall spectacularly and publicly, knocking into signs and bystanders. Other times I’m more discreet. This time I was in my driveway, so unless my neighbors were peering out, I’m the only one who got to appreciate the tumble.
Aside from the fact that it obviously hurts when this happens, it’s annoying in that it prompts an instant leap into this train of thought:
“Oh crap, I did it again. Did I tear my jeans? Anything broken? Damn, I have MS. I wonder if that’s why I fell. I wonder if it’s getting worse. I wonder if it’s going to get worse. I wonder when it’s going to get worse. Damn.”
Then I just get up and keep going, because what else are you going to do? Lay there in the driveway? But for as long as I have a scraped hand or a sore knee, I also have this very real reminder of everything that goes along with it.
It’s also frustrating that falling isn’t funny any more. It was never point-and-laugh funny (my friends aren’t jerks!) but it was there-she-goes-again funny. Now it’s just grim so I never talk (and laugh) about it. I miss the jokes.
Anyhow, this isn’t high tragedy. God knows there’s enough going on in the world right now that my scraped knee pales in comparison. So does MS, for that matter. But I still don’t like either of them.