I think my house is trying to hurt me. It’s not the anxiety talking. I think I even have definite proof.
Before I go even further, I am aware that there may be a movie out there about this very sort of thing. But since I don’t watch horror movies, I’m not quite sure. I just don’t want anyone to think I’m ripping them off. And this really is happening! I have the photographic evidence to prove it! It seems that every time I try to do something productive around here, I somehow get injured. I am beginning to wonder if it’s really clutziness, or if there is something really wrong here. Really!
The other day I was going down into the basement to retrieve my son’s extra jacket as well as retrieve some other warmer things. I felt a bit silly, after all I packed all the cold weather stuff away in JUNE. Yeah, I was a little behind the times there. I finally gathered up all the gloves and stuff I knew we wouldn’t be using and put it away. I guess I was waiting for a freak snowstorm in the summer? Not sure. Anyway, as I went down the steps I lost my balance and fell, smacking my arm against the bottom step and landing on my side.
I can definitely say this is one of my more serious house-induced injuries. As you can see it left a very nasty bruise. It could have been worse, since there is a brick wall there near the foot of the steps. I could have bashed my head in. It makes me wonder what this house has against me. It could’ve killed me, but instead it spared me and just gave me a nasty injury.
A person trying to prove something should have lots of documentation. For example, I have many notes on my computer about my former employer in case they came back later and tried to say I was an idiot (who’s the idiot now? They are STILL sending stuff to me on my work email. They just don’t get it.) I suppose I need to start documenting stuff about how my house is trying to do away with me. I’d have a pretty thick file if I’d been keeping track by now. I have had all the skin scraped off of my knuckles too many times to count while cleaning. I have almost been knocked unconscious about 1000 times by the cabinet doors in our kitchen. The stairs? That may have been the first time I’ve fallen down those stairs but I’ve taken several tumbles down the stairs that lead, well upstairs. I guess I shouldn’t say tumbles, more like a slide down on my back. And there are more, many more incidents of bullying directed at me by my house…
Now before you go around screaming POLTERGEIST I want you to know that I don’t think we have those kinds of forces at work. It is 112 years old, we bought it for its tornado protection potential, but while I will admit I DO believe in ghosts, I don’t think any would harm us. Nor do I think we have any here. I’m thinking that ghosts would find way cooler digs to hang out and haunt anyway. Maybe it’s just like the dog-it hates to be cleaned. Or worse, it shuns any kind of organizing. That would make sense-after all, I feel like my brains are being sucked out of my head most of the time I am here.
I’m not wrapping myself in bubble wrap just yet, though that might be a good idea for the next time I have to go down into our cobwebby, spider and cricket infested basement. I suppose I could just stop doing stuff around the house. At this point, it wouldn’t be real noticeable the way I have been slacking the last couple of weeks.
Besides me just admitting that I am a total clutz, we may have another explanation in the works. Tonight Evil Genius came home from work and said that he feels like he’s being strangled when he’s at home. It only happens at home, nowhere else. AH-HA! We are harboring Sith Lords. That can be the only explanation…