If you’ve been following my ramblings long enough, you’ve probably noticed that I have already talked about how clumsy I can be, but in all honesty, I reach new levels each day and therefore have to update this public diary of clumsiness.
I woke up this morning dreaming of the decadent cake my mum had promised to make for my half birthday, my actual birthday almost always ending up a complete failure due to some bizarre curse – I’ll expand on the subject in another post. So I got up, brewed my coffee, added a splash of milk then toasted a nice big slice of crusty bread and slathered homemade chunky marmalade on top. Breakfast in bed is something I particularly relish in and have had since I was a kid (mostly on weekends), so nothing was really different than my regular habits. My phone’s battery calling my attention, I deposited my plate on my bed and went to plug in the weeping device, then sat on my bed’s side as I took a sip of my comforting warm beverage. Looking around, I couldn’t locate my breakfast which I was certain I had brought to my bedroom. Lightbulb. I get up and realize I had sat on it and the plate I was staring at was, apart from the occasional crumb…empty. My sandwich had gotten stuck on my bum! Furthermore, as I tried to detach the sticky mess from my pyjamas, I inevitably spilled half my coffee on my slippers.
Needless to say I decidedly have no better luck on my half than on my actual birthday, and my clothes have already had more sweets than me today.
Not a day passes without someone pointing out how tall I am, and I’m not even that tall. I at times find it amusing to be able to reach what others struggle to touch, but if I’m completely honest, there’s a whole world down there I do not know.
Most of my good friends measure around ten centimeters less than myself, making it impossible for me to wear heels, not that I desperately need to. However, I won’t deny I don’t sometimes fancy a change in my wardrobe, climbing into the cute platform shoes I bought on a whim but never get to wear for lack of equally tall friends. I do not find it pleasurable to have to bend down in order to hear what others are trying to say, or be obliged to wear longer dresses to protect the innocence of the shorter people; I therefore tend to relinquish my girly rights for the sake of the greater good – I know, I’m a charitable soul. Moving on from the somewhat cocky and self-absorbed remarks I’ve just typed and don’t really identify with, I do actually have some issues with my height. A fortnight ago, I was invited to a friend’s house party in the mountains; the moment I arrived, I inevitably hit my head as I tried passing through the low arched door. Now, not to blame the door for my subsequent half hour of pain, I will however point out that I was the only one struggling with that particular problem, yet again singled out by my stature. I was wearing flats, I promise. The deadly mix of height and somewhat inherent clumsiness is one I apparently have mastered, receiving tree branches in my eyes and mistletoe always hanging way too low it ends up receiving my kiss – I won’t complain, that has effectively saved me from some awkward smooching obligations. This brings me to another series of misadventures I tend to struggle with, which is the male population I seem determined to attract, maybe happy to rest their heads on my bosom; I simply do not feel comfortable being with a man I appear to be the one protecting. I have no problem with shorter individuals, but being a hugger and shelter seeker, I find it difficult to be the small spoon when I am clearly the ladle.
I would continue the list of my height-related misfortunes, for they are plentiful, but I’m afraid I do not enjoy putting down what I clearly was given as a gift; I am tall, and if anyone wants a weather forecast, I’ll be more than glad to help.
So the title says it all, but it just doesn’t do justice to how clumsy I really can be. I’ve perfected the art in an array of situations, from walking into things to things walking into me – yes, it has gone that far.
Let’s take this morning for example, I prepared my oatmeal in my favorite Christmas mug, dash of cinnamon and all the works and I happily sat in my bed preparing myself for the day. Sounds lovely till now. However as I was getting seated, legs crossed like the yogi I’m not, I managed to burn my ankle. You read right, my ankle, of all places my body had made burn-ready. I had put the mug in the crevice left between my thighs and feet and scorching hot as it was, I rested my ankle on it.
My exploits have ranged from tripping on my own pants, left foot stepping on my right one, bumping into walls and open cupboards… It’s safe to say I’ve earned my deal of bruises over the years. I’ve missed door openings by a few inches, spilled my tea on my lap absent-mindedly thinking the glass had reached my lips, tomatoes exploding in my face and forks magically jumping out of my hand, I’ve even slipped on imaginary objects.
My head is always in the clouds, and I basically don’t calculate things as I tumble through life; I just manage to fray my way through the haze, stumbling over obstacles I sometimes create. This applies to every aspect of my life whether it’s the ceiling lamp I screwed on improperly causing a short circuit in the house’s electrical system or my next career step. I’d concur that it’s a strange way to live, often tripping over thin air and weird ideas, but I would be lying if I said it’s not immensely fun to experience. I’m a twenty-five year old child with the happy point of view of an infant, I’ll laugh at anything, first of all at my misacts. There’s nothing wrong with stumbling through the whirlwind of life, I’m clumsy in the oddest of ways, and I enjoy it fully, even if that costs me a few hundred bruises along the way.