Followed a train of thoughts today about my mental and physical coordination. The train led to nowhere. Still writing an entry about it.
I was a clumsy kid. I was also a hypochondriac, so that one time when I broke my arm, no one believed me until it turned purple and would no longer move. Then, a week later, when I tripped over a hose, fell, and broke at least one finger on the other hand, no one believed me again until a day or two later. 7 years old with a cast on one arm and a splint on the other. I was what you call "glamorous". To this day, I regard both roller skates and water hoses as enemy combatants.
I'm not bitter about any of this, because I have it all blocked and shoved way into a corner of my heart where no one goes. I kid. Actually I'm not bitter because I am a parent now, with a hypochondriac kid, and if she ever breaks a bone I'm sure we'll wait to be sure. True story: as I was typing that I remembered last year she broke her collarbone in the night and we waited till the next day to get it checked out. So I speak the truth.
One of my older sisters is a dancer. Every time I say that I feel I have to very quickly follow up with a disclaimer like, "A dancer like ballet and jazz and modern and stuff," lest someone suspect her of being a lady of the night. Actually, now, she dances with a troupe of black-clad athletic Stomp types, which is even harder to explain. The point is, she's athletic and coordinated. My other 3 siblings do not dance, and I don't know if they're klutzy or not, because I'm pretty self-absorbed, I guess. Also, I'm the baby by a decent number of years, so. But that sister, Leah, I always wanted to be like her, with the dancing and the backflips and stuff, but it's hard, because stuff like walking without falling down is challenging.
In addition to my lack of grace, I am kind of mentally uncoordinated. I mean, I'm smart, but my processes are complicated. When I cook, I use all the dishes. When I clean the floor, I never remember to clean the table first, so then I have to clean the floor again. Today I failed to read the whole recipe and ended up having to move the ingredients to a different bowl and then I realized I hadn't melted the peanut butter so I had to fish it out and melt it and then throw it back in, stuff like that. In the end my chocolate-peanut butter-pudding-pops will no doubt be tasty, but I just think most people probably have less kitchen carnage to arrive at the same result.
I think it's a disability, like someday if they examine my brain they'll find all the smarts squished up on one side like when Milk Duds melt in your glove compartment, and on the other 3/4 of the brain it'll be all squiggly and wacko, and then I will finally make sense. Until then, I salute you, graceful and logical ones, as soon as I remember how a salute works.