leaving consciousness behind

I swear some days you can't win for losing. I woke up this morning and tiptoed out of my bedroom, leaving the little boys sleeping peacefully. I jumped in the shower, got dressed, cleaned the bathrooms, emptied all the trash cans, started a load of laundry and put all the dishes away...all before 8:15. It was looking to be a productive day.


Heh.


People began to wake up. Diapers were changed. Breakfast orders were placed. Husband and eldest son were escorted out the front door with garbage in hand. Our "normal" was in full swing.


Until.


I decided it was time to "reboot" the laundry. You know, where you swap stuff from the washer to the dryer and start a new load. No big deal usually, except as most of you know, the redneck laundromat is still in full swing, requiring the hose be placed out the door, blada blada blah blah. We won't get into that again.


For some reason that I still cannot recall, (mostly due to my name being called over and over again by short people like some sort of tribal chant, the clanging in my head every time my heart beats, and the residual ringing in my ears) I had opened the overhead cabinet in the laundry room to get...yeah, I don't know. I can't remember.


Anyway, something fell out of there, and as I bent down to get what had fallen out, the washer hose caught the bottom of the fully opened dryer door and began to close it, moving it right into the path of my oncoming head, my oncoming face, actually. My mouth to be exact. And WHAM! Instant busted lip!


I put my hand to my mouth to feel what I feared might be my newly loosened front teeth and to catch what surely would be a river of blood if it equalled the pain now reverberating in my mouth. Then I stood up. Right into the corner of the open overhead cabinet. BANG! Now I've surely cracked my head open!


Equally annoyed and grateful that Jay and Ryan are already gone, lest I have to deal with my injuries and people laughing at me, I make my way to the bathroom, one hand over my mouth, the other atop my now pulsing noggin to survey the damage.


Through somewhat blurred vision, and what feels like semi-consciousness, I surmise that thankfully my lip doesn't look nearly as bad as it feels, and I don't see or feel brain matter oozing from my scalp. Perhaps once the fog clears, I will be o.k. afterall.


But I'll tell you this. This is the last time I start my day by cleaning toilets.


It leads to fat lips and cracked coconuts.


That's no good at all.





Edited to Add: My husband calls promptly after reading the new post to tell me that he would not laugh at me before making sure I was o.k. Or wouldn't laugh at me if I was really hurt. Or something like that.

Interpretation: If I'm alright, then I can help him off the floor when he's done laughing.