Or, feeling small.
Yesterday I got the back of my garage organized and cleared a big space. It was extra dirty in there due to the re-roofing job from last month, but cleaning was cathartic. You know the feeling?
I was rearranging two original –shall we say ‘vintage’ — cabinet doors from my kitchen. I placed one on the floor stud in the corner on the left garage wall. I looked at the other on the back wall, and, noticing it was wider, decided to put it in the corner space. I was just turning back to the old ironing board closet door on the left when…
Yep, it had already started falling. Something smacked me over my left eyebrow, pushed my glasses into my face, and the next thing I know I’m picking my glasses up off the floor and holding the left side of my face, stumbling out of the garage, saying “Fuck!” “Fuck…fuck!!…” I cursed as I headed into the house. I was still trying to understand what had happened at that point.
I sat on the kitchen floor, pulled a towel off the oven rack and wiped the blood. I reached over into the freezer and got out ice. Dolores came in and wanted to help, so I had her get me a clean, cold washcloth. Then she poured me some apple juice and hovered. The juice tasted so good.
I was doing okay, until I made the mistake of looking at myself in the bathroom mirror where I went to get bandages. Ugh. I’m squeamish anyway. I sat back on the floor and breathed.
Eventually I got the forehead wound dressed and wrapped in a head band. The bleeding under my eye stopped. I took 4 Ibuprofen, got in my yoga clothes, and climbed into bed. My accommodating kitty joined me. I calmed down and that felt good.