I have this special talent. I can be walking down a completely empty corridor, and I’ll still manage to find something to run into. When I’m somewhere where there are multiple things to run into, I always manage to run into the most pain-causing thing available. Take last night, for example.
I was walking around a bed, which sits up on a platform made of wood. I’m not sure how, but I managed to ram the outside edge of my right knee into the extremely pointed corner, and then I just kind of howled in pain for a few minutes. It turned into a lovely, swollen, bruised goose-egg, and because that’s not fun enough, my whole knee area has been quite irritate since I did this. You would think I learned my lesson, but no, tonight I managed to run back into the same corner in the same spot on my leg. Go me.
The thing is, I know 29 isn’t old. I actually feel sixteen. However, my body doesn’t seem to get the message. When I was sixteen, I was about as graceful as I am now, and when I ran into things I pretty much forgot I had done so within a minute of doing so. There was no nonsense of it still hurting hours or even days later. Plus, I rarely bruised. Nowadays, I run into stuff all the time, and I seem to bruise more and more easily. This is the only thing I’m really dreading about the whole aging thing (apart from the whole family members dying thing). I don’t mind getting older, but I really dislike how my lack of gracefulness seems to have a direct link to the part of my brain that realizes I’m not sixteen and am getting older.