Confuzzled's Sense of Gravity

Smilla had a sense of snow. I have a sense of gravity--that is, I fall a lot. I didn't really think about this until I visited a chiropractor for a consultation this week. He's the first person who has seemed like he could offer some helpful suggestions as to how I can feel better. Anyway, he's positive I'm one of the most mis-aligned people he knows (possibly also one of the most maligned, but I kept my puns to myself).

He asked if I had every had any kind of traumatic fall. The first thing that leaped to mind, of course, was my experience gracefully plummeting off the Trax train this summer. The short answer, obviously, was yes. But then my mom and I started talking about all of the times I've fallen.

Age 5: I was innocently walking to kindergarten, accompanied by my older sister and her best friend, when the sidewalk suddenly decided it hated me. Really, that's the only explanation I have. An unevenness I never noticed before caught my foot, and my face collided with the cement. If any of you know me, you'd be greatly amused by how distraught I was--that I wasn't going to school that day.

Age 6: My parents had a pole structure that held a porch swing--the same structure as a regular swing set, we just rarely bothered to hang the seat on it. It became, my default, our monkey bars. My older sister and I decided to chicken fight. (Actually, she decided and then bullied me into participation) In the course of the fight, she yanked too hard on my legs--I lost my grip, tumbled to the ground, and broke my arm for the first time.

Ages 7 thru 13: All of the usual falling, if a little bit more than usual. It never helped that my balance has always been awful.

Age 14: So I'm out in the front yard, playing Horse with my dad. We're bonding. It's good. But then he overshoots the ball and it bounces into the street. As I was standing nearer to the street at the moment, I was told to get it. What I didn't realize: I was standing next to the not-even-two-foot retaining wall. I didn't see it, because it was on my blind side. I turned to take a running step and . . . you guessed it, tripped and fell over the wall.

Fast forward to age 23: The Trax train incident. How embarrassing. And then today. Today I came to my parents' house in Centerville because my sister and brother-in-law are here for the weekend and because a girl I grew up with is going to speak in church tomorrow before leaving on her mission. This is, I freely admit, also a Stake Conference avoidance tactic.

Anyway, when I came inside, I was carrying all essentials: a backpack with church clothes, my purse, and my very full laundry basket. I set the purse in the living room and ditched the backpack, but then needed to proceed downstairs with the laundry basket. Let me emphasize again--that laundry basket was very full. Making it very heavy. And skewing my already practically-non-existent center of balance forward. In my defense, I made it halfway down the staircase. Well, I actually made it all the way down the staircase--I just made it down the second half by missing a step, losing my balance, and sliding the rest of the way down.

I believe I made a graceful noise at the bottom--"oof" as I recall--and listened as I heard my dad fighting the urge to laugh. "I'm fine!" I yelled. "Just a little banged up." Out-loud laughing now. I got up, picked up my laundry, and started dragging my now-sore body to the washer and dryer.

So yes, chiropractor, it could be said that I've experienced some traumatic falls. And my one regret about the most recent is that all of the sweet bruises I'll get from that fall (I bruise ridiculously easily) will be in places where I can't show anyone.