My wires are all crossed, apparently. Today I had a hideous muscle-spasm in my foot – which I thought for a half-second was a dog-attack, and which Mom terrifyingly informed me might be my arch trying to fall – and sliced my finger open while involved in onion-related activities. Both times, I cursed for about thirty seconds, then started giggling.
Giggling really hard. After the foot spasm, which hurt worse, I actually had trouble breathing. This was chain-lightning giggling, the giggling of Thor.
This isn’t a new thing; thinking back, it’s happened every time I can recall getting hurt the past few years. I even laughed when I was in that car accident, though I was crying at the same time, so I didn’t scare anyone that way. I do remember freaking out Jenan with it at some point, and one of my supervisors at the library when I banged the cart into myself. This always happens. Having two different injuries in short order just made it more obvious.
And I just realized I’ve been laughing, for no reason whatsoever, the whole time I’ve been writing this; I’ve been thinking about injuries, see. And it’s not really funny. It kind of tends to piss people off when, you know, they hear a scream and rush back, and find you sitting there cracking up, with a box of stuff knocked all over the floor. Suppose I’m ever at a crime scene or something?
My punk endorphins are seriously going to get me in trouble one day.