Me and a chair on the dining floor. I think: Well at least I wasn’t holding my coffee, and then I notice the dust under the table. I tell myself that last five pounds has got to come off my belly; it’s making my right knee buckle too often. I put my hand on that knee, the artificial one with its broken mechanism and the pinched scar tissue. Something moves inside. My stomach heaves as the pain shoots through my leg. Will this dang knee last another year? My right hip screams: Quit taking stock and get off me, woman! A long-ago evening when an Oldsmobile crashed through my car door left that hip prone to arthritis. I shift over to my back, breathing, willing myself to stay calm. I start looking for hand-holds.
Then I notice the brilliant sunlight in the window and I reach for the phone sitting two feet above me. As I take the shot, I find myself laughing. I’m going to have a wicked bruise on my hip. My elbow might be bleeding. A crunch in my wrist worries me; I think I smacked my hand on the floor when I landed.
But I’ve got the perfect illustration for today’s blog, and quite by accident.
It’s the twenty-ninth day of the thirtieth month of My Year Without Complaining. I’m a little sore but I hauled my sorry butt off the floor, and life continues.