Comical Ways to Kill Myself
I can picture it in my mind. Someone driving down the street in front of my house. They hear a crash, and see my fat ass come a-tumbling out the front room window, onto the BBQ grill, flopping over backwards on my head.
That almost happened yesterday. In fact, I almost fell quite a few times yesterday. But the closest I got was when I was schlepping through the living room, my right leg gave out and I lurched right toward the window… with only the screen between me and a BBQ-grill related neck-breaking.
Well, there was a kitchen chair parked in front of the window. And it saved me. I was able to grab it, steady myself, get my feet under me, and contemplate my near doom.
Yesterday was that kind of day. I almost tipped over backwards like a falling redwood yesterday morning when giving my wife a kiss. At the store, my feet froze but my walker kept rolling. I had to slam on the brakes, pull the walker back towards me, get my feet under me, and proceed.
I seem to be far more steady on my feet today than I was yesterday. But I know this is a fleeting thing. This house is full of danger — active dogs swarming about my feet, a German shepherd who seems determined to kill me by dropping toys and balls in my path as I walk (she’s easily amused) — and that’s just the start. Getting out of a chair, I am likely to flop back down onto it. Sometimes, two or three attempts are needed. Sometimes, I just give out.
But, like I said, today is pretty good. Maybe that is because I’ve kept my fat ass planted in this chair for most of the day. But 7 pm approaches. That means “The Daily Show” re-run from last night, and a glass of wine.
I just hope I survive.