I just fell down on my own front stoop.
I wasn't drunk; hell, I wish I was drunk because that would be immeasurably less pathetic. No. Not drunk. Just me, though and through.
I took out the trash, and coming back in I put my foot on the stoop to step up; my foot slipped off; and I crashed to the ground. Thank god the neighbors didn't see me because between the state of my yard and my occasional fits thrown at the sight of Bennet's latest victim they undoubtedly already believe I'm a crank-addled lunatic. It's not even dark yet, I'm just a fucking klutz.
You know what? It hurts A LOT more to fall down at 30 then it did when I was a kid. I should know. I fell down a lot.
I still do.
Some days I'm really fucking tired of the whole me-ness of being me, you know?
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1 comment:
Ah. Somethings never change. But have you walked into a door divider here lately?
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