Stupid Doesn't Have to Be Fatal, But Sometimes It Is

I did two relatively stupid things last night. I realize that is not surprising, given my tendencies. However, the fact that neither thing involved alcohol in any way, shape, or form might be.

Yesterday was a day in which even "Sofur Slug" does not come close to describing my level of inactivity. Ass and Sofur were in constant contact. Tom said it was like I was in one of those promotional contests, like where contestants have to keep their hand on a new car, and the last one to take their hand off it is the winner. I took 30-second breaks every hour to make sure I still had circulation in my legs, check for signs of atrophy, and get more ibuprofen, because lying around like that all day makes my back hurt. But with liberal doseages of pharmaceuticals, I was able to "slug it out" without twitching in agony on the Sofur.

None of that was particularly bright, but it wasn't the stupid part. Yet.

Around mid-afternoon, realizing I had not yet even brushed my teeth - due to the bathroom sink's lack of proximity to the Sofur - I made my way the six or seven steps to where my purse was on the dining room table. In said purse, I had a 5-Hour Energy drink. I thought, perhaps, I could use a spot of energy. I worried a bit, since I'd never had one of these drinks, and my reconfigured digestive tract sometimes causes me to have odd reactions to things. Like the time a couple of doses of Delsym cough syrup left me stoned out of my gourd for three days. Totally not my fault. But the parts I can remember were pretty funny.

I read the label carefully, then swallowed the alleged energy-booster. Which failed to have any effect on me. At all. I was not one bit more mobile, and my ass did not venture one centimeter further away from the Sofur. Teeth remained unbrushed.

And that still isn't the stupid part.

Stupid Part #1 began when I decided to start work on the book-in-progress around 5:30 PM. This was stupid, because it always sucks me right into fictional Emporia, Minnesota and into Abby and Seth's world. Which meant at 11:15 PM I was still writing. And I'm usually in bed by 9:00 PM. And I had to get up for work today. At 5:00 AM. And I... am not a person who does well on very little sleep. At all.

So, that was pretty stupid. On the other paw, I did get most of chapter 16 written, including the much-anticipated (by me, anyway) hammock sex scene.

The next stupid thing was... almost disastrous. It made me realize I should really give one of you the password to my blogs so that if I die in some ridiculous, Darwin-Award-Worthy, senseless way, you can at least let people know what happened. Though it'll probably be on the news.

It was about 11:25, and I was finally ready to head to bed. Normally, Tom has the TV or the computer still on in there, but he'd turned them off hours earlier. When they are on, though, they provide me with a small amount of ambient light, enabling me to navigate the dog-strewn hallway in relative safety.

But last night, it was pitch black. I began feeling my way toward the hallway. My right hand was seeking the bookcase, a key landmark on the journey. My left hand was checking for either the newel post at the top of the stairs, or the hall closet door. Either one would have been really, really helpful.

I mentioned it was pitch dark, right? Like, I couldn't tell where there might be a door, a window, a wall, anything. Finally, my right hand touched wall. I determined that it was the far side of the kitchen doorway, meaning I needed to edge slightly to the left to line up with the hall. So I turned a wee bit, and moved forward with my right foot.

And there was nothing there. No floor under my foot. Air. I grabbed with one hand, and clutched the old baby gate that leans up there, the better to block Darwin in the hall while he's eating, and it rattled. My right foot was plunging downward, and just (JUST) caught the edge of the first step down. It slid, but didn't go further.

If my foot had gone a half inch further forward before atempting to touch down, I would have missed the first step entirely, not having realized I was anywhere near the steps in the first place. The second step would have been too low, too far out, and there's NO WAY I'd have kept my balance. I'd have fallen. And not the annoying and embarassing "oh, I bumped on my butt all the way down the stairs" kind of fall. This would have been a total end-over-end, major-injury-inducing crash. Bones would have broken. Limbs for sure, possibly neck. We already know what happens when you fall down those stairs drunk. You get a gaping bloody head wound. And that time, it was daylight and I was able to get my hands out in front of me, because at least I knew which was the floor and which was... not. Falling down those stairs onto a ceramic tile floor at 11:30 PM in total darkness... would not be good. There would have been a terrible series of thuds and crashing baby gate, and there I'd have been.

Once I identified my near-disaster, I retreated, found the proper wall, and felt my way to the bathroom. When I got there and turned on the light, I could hardly stand up. I was trembling hysterically in the aftermath of my brush with mortality.

When I finally made it (safely) to bed, I was still wound up from the work on the book, and hyper with post-adrenaline aftermath. It was nearly 1:30 AM before I got to sleep.

5:00 AM came awfully damned early.

But at least it came.