…from myself, perhaps. I am the spazz queen. I know that. I can usually handle it. When I say or do something incredibly stupid in front of people who know and love me, at least. Like last night. The evening was going well. The weather was somewhat milder. Our little trio took a pleasant excursion to the park. Upon returning we were settling in. In the living room. I decided to sit in my orange chair…but had to remove some toys from it first. After doing so the plan was to turn around and sit on said chair. Easy enough, right? Instead I somehow managed to execute a roundkick. Causing a large but tender region of my ankle/shin/foot to go crashing into a very hard and pointy corner of the chair. Which resulted in me whimpering and wincing and hobbling about the rest of the evening, in a most pathetic manner. (It still hurts quite a lot. And there is the most spectacular bruise. Perhaps I’ll document the changes in coloration…though I know not everyone wants to see photos of that. Hmmm.) Back to the original point. I don’t wish for these things to happen in front of my boys (or anyone else). But at least I know they will still love me after I make an arse of myself. It’s entirely different when these things happen at work. Nothing terribly embarrassing has happened. Recently. Just a few remarks uttered that I wish I’d kept to myself. My perpetual friendliness/perkiness/chattiness is frequently met with cold, harsh silence. Sometimes accompanied by a raised eyebrow. This is nothing new, really. My interactions with others have been like this since grade school. Only now the urge to flee is getting stronger. If I can’t take a vacation from myself, I’d gladly settle for a vacation. To just about anywhere. And soon. Sigh.
