History Repeating
To start, about forty years ago, I was in High School and one otherwise unnoteworthy day, I wound up in a fight with another student. He happened to be an athlete, I didn't. The fight was very brief, and for me, quite painful as he put his fist directly to my face. I've had to live with the consequences ever since.
Yesterday, I suffered again, though this time it wasn't human-on-human violence but rather gravity-on-human. I was in the act of retrieving the empty garbage bucket from the side of Stonecrest Heights when my foot lost purchase on some leaves and I propelled myself face-first into the asphalt. It was the same, it wasn't as bad, but in some ways it was worse. The good: I didn't need the attention of a nurse; I didn't bleed all over a favorite clothing item; I didn't need to be disciplined for my actions; my brother was there for me if I needed him. The bad: that horrible instant when I knew I was going to get hurt and knew I couldn't do a damned thing to stop it from happening. It's something we all have to cope with somehow.