Trip of the day

Ever since the new canteen's been built, there would be every once in a while when I'll trip and almost fall on the canteen steps. I don't know if there is a precise step that is perhaps 0.5cm higher than all the rest, but then I haven't seen anyone else trip along the stretch, so I gathered the fault probably lies with me.

The fact that I am blogging such insignificant information, however, probably means that this queer and unwelcomed routine had been interrupted. And so it was. Tuesday evening I tripped... and fell.

It has been a while, as I told Azi and Jy later, since I've ever had quite a spectacular fall as this. Having been conditioned to a series of near-trips on the stairs, only to regain my balance in a giddy rush, I hadn't believed in that two seconds that I really was gonna fall. Instead of dropping my hands to break the fall, therefore, I flung out both hands to grab onto something solid to stop the fall-- except that my hands missed the solid handrail and hit the not-so-solid plastic dustbin, which of course rocked forward out of my reach in a series of noisy clops.

Thus my poor left knee got most of the impact, hitting and scraping across the rough patterned stone floor.

I am glad I did not squeak in shock, but the clatter at which my belongings and I landed and the accompanying rumble of that not-so-solid bin already did the job of drawing alarmed looks from passer-bys, darnit. I glanced round long enough to see two girls who froze in mid-conversation to stare in shock, then promptly averted eye contact and climbed to a standing position. There's no way to look dignified when you pick yourself up from a fall, I realised with some annoyance-- my barang barang kept me from rising gracefully from the steps, so I had to compensate by pretending to sweep imaginary dust off my skirt (while swallowing the awful dismay when I caught sight of the freshly-bleeding abrasion, which was beginning to throb in earnest), and walking away sedately from the accident scene, nonchalantly sms-ing as if nothing really happened.

I'll leave out the messy details about washing the endlessly bleeding knee in the isolated toilet as I recovered myself. At that point in time there was not much room to choose which hurt more--my knee or my dignity. Like HOW EMBARRASSING IS THAT LAR! :( At this age my psycho-motor skills still continue to astound me. The last major fall I had (we shall prudently leave out toe-jabbing and bruises and unintentional head-banging and walking into furniture because they belong to another category of accidents) was in first year, when I was out doing newspaper collection with my seniors. Two seconds after spotting a road barrier with a low-hanging chain, and consciously telling myself not to trip, -WHAM- I walk into the chain and end up knee-first on the concrete road.

Ah well. As of now I'm gonna be confined to wearing long pants and jeans for the new year. Was complaining pitifully to my dad that I can't even run on the treadmill because it's not knee-friendly (though I must confess I wasn't really that miserable about skipping exercise in particular :D).

"Oh, but you can," he told me with a grin, pacing on the machine. "You'll just have to run like this--" *does a curious, limping gait on the running treadmill*

*grumbles* I really ought to keep the frequency of these little accidents down--even my parents are developing an emotional immunity to them. Gah.