These things, they do happen. Am literally, whilst scooping ketchup with a sausage roll and shovelling it into my mouth, mopping up the gravel studded blood injury on my shin. Running down my shin. Blood in the café
Spectacular fall. Mini ramp meant for wheelchairs like ski slope, legs vector ascending skywards, splayed and show stopping for rain soaked oldies on a National Trust outing for the day. Painful in oh, so many ways.
Thought I would be grateful for the rain.
Strong desire for Bourbon.
Wet dress, pulled muscles and bruised bum, physical injury pales in relation to the rage that bubbles deep within. And we have these days. ‘Them’ days when all and all will seriously piss you off. You want to cry, all the time, and poison all the apples. Leaving the duvet for enemy territory it seemed.
Trip in a human steamed bus is not good, she thinks, sitting beside someone whose clothes smell like a wet dog. Long, long walk in pelting rain. The usual solace of the cafe is packed and my table seconded by others. Ugh, hate it when people have no sense of personal space. Blah, blah and then the fall.
I shall tell no-one on the garden tour, dodging dripping trees, of my aching tailbone and valiantly attempt to deliver. Sweet people, at the end, for the very first time, a lady slips some coins into my hand, with thanks. I got a tip! At fifty-eight my life seems to have become a series of tips in some of the work I do and I am thinking, is this the tipping point too? Anyway, I took the tip, smiled at the entire situation that was this day, and bought myself a lavender plant to ward off the spiders when they come indoors in Autumn. Read this recently and believe me, I have enough spiders in my life.
Imagine if you will, end of the day, this still a little grumpy, very sore but not so much pissed off possum is back on the bus with backpack, groceries and a lavender plant to boot. Party to a couple having a full on fight, much to the amusement of all on board. She lets him have it, he tries to deflect, she will have none of it – he gets off – he gets on again, she has not broken her accusations and finally he just gives up and gets off again. She follows and as we leave, the unhappy couple are still yelling on the pavement. Guess it’s their iffy, pissy, offy day too.
Home. For bath, book, country music and a glass of wine. We are allowed these days when things go wrong – they make us muse and plan for better ones.
Strip it down, she says. Strip it down. Tomorrow she shall build it up again.
Eish! Hope you had a better day, but then, when I think about it again, it wasn’t so bad after all. Just called ‘living.’