So that happened..

I got bitchslapped by my stairs last night.

Every night, my dog wakes me up at either 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. to be asked to be let out.. This is a natural thing for a dog owner, unless you are one of those amazing superstars that crate-trained your puppies. You, friends, are incredible.

I live in a old house with wooden floors and stairs. I had, just last week, had a talk with my friend Matt regarding the slipperiness of stairs.

As far as I can tell, I first slipped on my heel, scraping it, then landed on my tailbone, scraping it and propelling me forward, to scrape up my chest, neck and thunk an amazing thunk into and out of my forehead.

I got up from this, let the dog out, and then promptly passed out in the kitchen, blood pooling and running down the basement stairs.

It sounds hideous, but that's exactly what happened.

I woke up in said pool to Pickles barking outside, wondering where I was and why something hurt. And then promptly began to cry.

Went upstairs, washed off my face, crying. I mostly wanted more sleep, I did not want to see this far into my skin (the skin had separated and was that my skull?), I was in shock. I began to plan and plan (I had a shoot at 9:30 a.m.), crying and crying.. It was the best response I could muster - - maybe as I've been crying so much the last couple weeks, maybe because shock is shock, maybe because it was the best and only response. I put on clothes and drove myself to hospital, holding a paper towel to my head and sobbing.

I've been reading "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins, which is so damnedly good and jawdroppingly violent. It's like watching a newsreport, but here we love these characters so much. (sort of the same story as "Battle Royale" - - read both!) I kept thinking about the main character, and her last injury I had just read (whip to face!), and continued to cry and cry.

It's scary to black out. It's scary to have life happen to you. (as the doctor said, it's just life) I got hurt, but it could have been so much worse. And that's probably the scariest.

I was not drunk, I was not hungover, I fell down the stairs, the most cliche' of all injuries, and the hospital staff believed me. Comedically speaking, they shouldn't have. But they did.

Going to the hospital felt like going to a salon. This is beyond my means, you people are paid to do this, please take care of me.

And that's what happened! I wore a hospital gown, they gave me pre-warmed blankets, they asked me what day it was, they popped me full of tetanus shot, they gave me a CT scan and looked at my brain. They wheeled me around on a gurney, which weirdly unexpected. I was with it enough not too laugh at the orderly's (from Crystal, MN) Iowa joke, which caused him to backpedal ("Iowa's not so bad.") They were awesome and professional and called me hon. Usually, someone has to travel at least 500 miles south to be called 'hon' by strangers. Not here.

It's all rapidly becoming all dreamlike. My doctor was awesome. Everyone, including himself, was very impressed with his stitches, of which I have seven.

They let me sleep under bright bright lights, only to be woken by someone screaming "OWOWOWOWWOWWOW! I don't want it in my head!!!" a couple doors down. Emergency rooms.

I drove myself home (which was also stupid, but.. see shoot at 9:30 a.m.), kind of slept for a hour, got up, ironed, did the shoot, and went back home to sleep until the water meter man arrived (he was supposed to arrive next Tuesday).

Thankful things: I'm okay! No need to call or check on me. I have awesome Frankenstein stitches and my head hurts, but I'm okay! The cut is under my bangs, so I could do the shoot this morning. (What if it had been my eye or my cheek? Vanity plays a part, and so does makin' the cash... Not that it should matter AT ALL, but it would have mattered Monday morning..) I'm going to have a scar on my right forehead, but it's not going to be "too bad". I can't see what might have been my skull anymore, and for that, I am incredibly grateful.

Lesson #3456: Wake up your roommate and have her drive you to the hospital. This way, you won't get the shocked look of "You drove yourself?" from the hospital staff. Also, your roommate won't be surprised or creeped out when she wakes to blood seemingly everywhere.

Lesson #2225: Time to put runners on the stairs! We must prepare our living places for us. I feel as though I'm ready to toddler-proof the house, but I'm the toddler. I've realized that I cannot and shouldn't live in this house as an old person. I didn't see myself doing that, but.. it's just a affirmation.

When I'm old, I might live in something all short, cute and midcentury, with barely any stairs to trip over. I will have a living room-kitchen-dining-room area, a sunroom with windows, and two small bedrooms, maybe an office. It will be separated enough from the neighbors, that I can outside in my yard or porch and not have to explain my presence. It will in a nice enough area, that I can sleep with my windows open. My dog and cat will shed everywhere and want to destroy the squirrels we see.

This is a lovely dream, and even as I love and adore my house, I like this dream too.

I'm really really tired.

Onward.