A Ridiculous Injury

This early afternoon I was in too much of a hurry, rushing from a classroom down a hill via sloping walkways punctuated by steps and walkways and steps.  I felt I needed to hustle to get materials from my truck in the lower parking lot beyond the soccer field before my office hours.

So, I was rushing downhill, not really watching my footing, and right before the second set of steps my right foot came down on a small pinecone that turned under my ankle and my ankle turned with it, rolling.  I had such momentum going forward, a heavy pack of books on my back and another bag of papers and files on my shoulder, that I could not just stop.  Instead, gravity was sending me forward without any gravitas whatsoever.  I was going to fall, but falling down the set of steps seemed too fraught--I feared for my teeth and my skull, so I leapt and ran, lunging and launching myself even as I dropped one bag.

I "ran" down the steps, barely keeping my feet, that ankle protesting, ran down the steps and the next ramp--impossible to halt until I had run out all that momentum, had jumped a flowerbed, and had landed, sprawling on the sloping lawn.  So lucky in this mild misfortune.

Luckily, the wind was not blowing, so the papers that had fallen and scattered from that bag had not gone far.  One witness to my running-fall insisted on helping me gather the materials, insisted on telling me where the Health Center was.  I hobbled to my office time, late now.

Hours later, after ibuprofen, I am icing the ankle again and, also, icing a dram of rum.

I had to hurry, you know?


4/19/19 Further reflections:


The whole thing felt like one of those dreams in which gravity doesn't quite exist, dreams in which we run and leap and find ourselves too far from earth, too far from safety . . . and then gravity returns.  It was both hilarious and humiliating, both scary and beyond fear or thought.  I am glad I kept going, you know, for anything less would have resulted in injury, serious falling, and the strain on my ankle is from that first rolling.  Lucky me, seriously.

Also, when I limped past the scene of the crime this morning, I was chagrined to find that the whole thing -- from pinecone to lawn-sprawl -- only comprised about ten yards of territory.  And, the second "ramp" was actually flat pavement, though leading to another flight of steps, which made the flowerbed hop (not "vault," as I first wrote) and lawn-roll mandatory.

P.S.  About three weeks ago, I strained the other ankle by not paying sufficient attention, so there's a lesson for me, for me.

Galley-Work: Poetry From Robert Graves

THE FACE IN THE MIRROR

Grey haunted eyes, absent-mindedly glaring

From wide, uneven orbits; one brow drooping

Somewhat over the eye

Because of a missile fragment still inhering,

Skin-deep, as a foolish record of old-world fighting.

Crookedly broken nose — low tackling caused it;

Cheeks, furrowed; coarse grey hair, flying frenetic;

Forehead, wrinkled and high;

Jowls, prominent; ears, large; jaw, pugilistic;

Teeth, few; lips, full and ruddy; mouth, ascetic.

I pause with razor poised, scowling derision

At the mirrored man whose beard needs my attention,

And once more ask him why

He still stands ready, with a boy’s presumption,

To court the queen in her high silk pavilion.

--Robert Graves

THIEF

To the galleys, thief, and sweat your soul out

 With strong tugging under the curled whips,

 That there your thievishness may find full play.

 Whereas, before, you stole rings, flowers and watches,

 Oaths, jests and proverbs,

 Yet paid for bed and board like an honest man,

 This shall be entire thiefdom: you shall steal

 Sleep from chain-galling, diet from sour crusts,

 Comradeship from the damned, the ten-year-chained --

 And, more than this, the excuse for life itself

 From a craft steered toward battles not your own.

--Robert Graves

Robert Graves, New Collected Poems,
Introduction by James McKinley,
Doubleday & Company, Inc.: Garden City, New York.
1977.

The mask?
Triton: sculpture mix; nutmeg/brown and blue glazing.