I have taken my fair share of scrapings. I have fallen so many times in my life over these last fifty years, or so, that I could never even to speculate what the count would be.

I have fallen, so often, that, for the most part, I have learnt to fall without much damage to myself. Well at least until last night on my way home from work.I have only fallen twice since I started my Dantrolene prescription, but the second time, last night, was the worst in a very long time.

I was rushing for the community shuttle bus, with ‘rushing’ be the key word here. I guess it is because I haven’t fallen in over six months that I felt confident I would be able to run without any consequences. I was wrong.

I wasn’t exactly watching where I was going, I was just looking at the bus hoping that it wouldn’t take off before I got there. I didn’t see… I didn’t see the slant of the sidewalk as it does when reaching a curve, or a driveway. It was the former that I missed in my lack of observation. I wasn’t expecting the slight drop, and because of this I fell hard on the pavement, “Like a ton of bricks,” as the saying goes. I scraped three knuckles of my left hand, so bad, they bled, and even though I wore a midsize coat (I call it a winter coat, even though most other people elsewhere in the country would call it a fall, or a spring coat) I scraped my elbow really bad.

Now, I am not much of a complainer when this happens. I, generally, just pick myself up (I got a hand up from a stranger yesterday, and I was somewhat embarrassed, but that is another story for an other time), and dust myself off before I continue on my journey. I know I can wash up my wounds when I get home.

Scrapes, for me, they’re a part of my life, I know how do handle them, and they’re no big deal.
—Robert Confiant 28 February 2018

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