last night i left work in the pouring rain, which, as it happens, has nothing to do with the story, but sets the mood admirably, no? i walked to my parked car, fumbled with the bags of stuff in my hands while attempting to unlock the door and, as i went to get in, smacked myself in the face with my lunch bag filled with not one but two heavy glass containers. i now have a welt on my cheekbone and strangers shoot me sympathetic glances (well, they ought to but haven't since i am still sitting on the couch in my bathrobe, surfing instead of breaking fast or working out or any of the number of things i ought to be doing but am not on account of being a battered lump of low self esteem.)
* i know i have written about this at length elsewhere in this blog and i did my utmost just now to find it and link to it for any poultries-come-lately but no luck. recap: although i am a dental hygienist who routinely pokes sharp pointed instruments into the unarmed delicate mucous membranes of the general public and who does it well, i am a gobsmacked klutz when it comes to slicing my hands with kitchen knives, getting deep cardboard cuts and tripping on perfectly smooth surfaces which will one day finish me off in a ridiculously embarrassing way. now you know.