The other evening I was hiding under the table with the cat because Husband was running the vacuum cleaner. You know, for solidarity purposes. The vacuum cleaner doesn’t actually scare me into hiding under pieces of furniture. When I decided to emerge, I bonked myself in the head, real good, on the edge of our counter.
This ultimately led to my thinking about all the things I might have accomplished in life had I not bonked my head probably about 100 times as a youth. It didn’t really matter where I was — chances were high that a head injury would occur.
The worst: being lifted about 5 feet into the air as a mere 11 year old in PE class, but from the ankles, which led to my falling smack onto the gym floor. I laid there for about 15 minutes in the fetal position before I stopped seeing stars and could mumble out sounds to Mr. Morley, who looked into my eyes and confirmed I did not have a concussion.
I might have become a doctor or something, you guys.
The most embarrassing: falling out of a swing at recess in 3rd grade, on my birthday, while wearing a brand new skirt set, followed by being carried by the principal to the nurse’s station, where someone looked into my eyes and confirmed I did not have a concussion.
It’s a funny thing, the clarity you get from bonking yourself in the head on the counter after hiding under the table with the cat while the vacuum cleaner is going. There’s potentially one medical condition I could attribute to all the head bonking (choir class, music stand, headache literally for days; lunchtime, cafeteria, off the backside of the bench; car door, self-explanatory; bicycle riding in the neighborhood, too quick of a turn, gravel driveway, stitches in the chin; wooden church pew; etc., et cetera, yet in spite of all this, I never once ended up with a concussion, so my skull is clearly superior to all others, which makes me wonder if I’m actually genetically created. Like Khan. We saw “Star Trek Into Darkness” this weekend.), and I feel like life would have been a lot better if I’d never gotten it in the first place. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the excitement was what our family needed. I defer to my mom on this: Mom?
And what if I HAD actually turned out smarter? Gotten a degree in Business Administration? Ended up with a PhD?
All the things, man. All the things.
But instead I lived a pretty normal life, albeit injury-filled (don’t even get me started on my broken thumb/rib/ankle/tailbone 6x stories — we’d be here all night), and it’s landed me here, which is pretty great. Like, I have a table under which I can crawl any time and a counter, which is the perfect height for bar stools if, you know, you were the type of person who bought bar stools. Also I have the World’s Raddest Cat; tonight I explained to her that so long as she’s soft and fluffy, I will want to snuggle her, and she responded by meowing, pouncing, running away, coming back, running away, coming back, running away, and coming back, which I’m nearly positive is Stella speak for, “Totally, Mom.”
She just gets it.