Mishaps and Big Decisions
I yanked the door open and rummaged through the bottom drawer for a quarter of the white onion left over from yesterday’s dinner. I found it tucked away in a corner, comfortably enclosed in a ziploc bag. I grabbed the chopping board and white ceramic knife from the dish rack. I started chopping away, taking care to have uniformly diced onions.
Suddenly I got a jolt. At that instant, I knew exactly what has happened: a knife accident. Years of slicing, dicing, and chopping would eventually lead to this. I knew it would happen one day. I inspected my finger and there it was, a smooth dent at the tip of my ring finger with a little expanding red dot in the middle. I will skip the running water, cotton soaked in blood, short-breath-inducing pain and macro photography that occurred next.
Just a couple of months ago, on the routine trek back to the office after our daily take away adventure, I missed a step and tumbled down a steep flight of stairs. Two seconds and two gasps later, I landed at the foot of the stairs with my head on the ground and my feet up the stairs. My emergency supply of agility miraculously got myself to sit on the bottom step. The first thing I felt was a literal pain on my ass. Then came the soreness on my knees. I felt a hand stroking my head where I hit it. I looked down realized I was still clutching my take out. No spills. Sadly the chopsticks didn’t survive the disaster.
For the next three weeks, my knees turned to Italian eggplants while the shape of the whole of Europe and Africa was temporarily stamped on my left buttock. I had ensure I rest the uninjured butt cheek first on chairs when sitting down.
A further couple of months before that, I missed the fourth of a five-step stairs that I take everyday and fell face down on the rough concrete just outside my apartment. I was carrying a huge bag and a tripod with a book tucked under my arm while texting while stepping out of my apartment to start the day. I thought I had it all together until the ground was approaching my face. I shot my free hand out to break my fall. It didn’t. I became a proud owner of two scars at the back of my hand a week later.
A series of mishaps on my routine with no explanation other than the fact that I am a klutz—-and I call myself the responsible adult of this household. I see it as a high power being out there looking to grab my attention. Just because you’ve been doing something for years doesn’t mean you’ll always get it right. You need to pay attention and be conscious about what you do. Auto piloting is a dangerous game.
I concede. I’ll pay attention to each step from now on.
