Splat

I had a great day on Thursday. I got into work at 8:20, dealt with things at work way beyond my level, upset unusually few people in the process, and actually had a driving lesson that didn't nearly result in an accident. Overall, when I got home, I felt I'd tried hard and done well, and that I could relax and enjoy my evening.

Then I realised I'd forgotten to post off my coursework for my counselling course. And it had to be at Birkbeck College on Friday. Fortunately, travelling from Watford to Birkbeck is quite easy. It's a nice fast train, and I imagined stepping off the train, going straight into Birkbeck, and getting straight back onto a cosy train in time to get some food for my poor deaf brother.

It was going fine until I got out at Euston, jumped onto a wall to get round a slow moving pedestrian, jumped off again and, er, missed. My knee bounced off the wall, and I fell flat on my face and arm. I lay on the floor for a few moments, wondering how I got there, and expecting some kindly passer-by to ask if I was alright and offering to help me up. After an old woman narrowly missed stepping on my hand, I rolled over and shakily got back on my feet. I hobbled to Birkbeck, got slightly disorientated, but finally made it to college and back again. It was only when I got onto the train that I realised my kneecap was now BIG. And my elbow wasn't moving either.

So I called Brother, and got a lift home. All the way back I moaned about my knee, and when we got back limped heavily back to the flat, put savlon on my grazes, and opened up my Jack Daniel's first aid kit.

Two things bugged me about this- everyone at work assumed I was drunk, showing an acute lack of awareness of how clumsy I really can be. Secondly, despite spending two days complaining, it turns out Brother didn't hear a word I said. It means he probably hasn't heard a thing I've said in three weeks.

Hope he gets his hearing back. I need someone to complain to.