Sometimes when I'm falling behind on a project, I'll pack up a cat and go to the cottage to work. It seems like I can get a lot more done there when I'm on my own and free from distractions than when I'm at home. And boy have I got a lot to get done. I'm behind on my manuscript (had to ask for an extension), had a copy edit to complete, and a blurb to write (all with looming deadlines).
So, yesterday I packed up my cat Fred and off we went.
Doesn't that sound ideal? The problem is . . . it was raining. REALLY HARD. It was 8:45 and I'd already been to the grocery store, Home Depot, and filled up the van with gas. We hit the road and the rain hit us. What usually takes just under an hour took us 90 minutes. (But we were listening to Bookmarked for Death on CD and that helped, although it was raining so hard at some points that I couldn't understand what the reader was saying. No matter. I know the story. Heck, I wrote it!)
When we arrived, it was still raining hard, but I had a schedule. First things first, get the frightened cat out of the car. That went okay, despite the fact I was juggling a grocery bag, my purse, and the cat carrier, and an umbrella. But soon Fred was inside and I grabbed my umbrella and went out for a second load.
Did I mention I was wearing my old (with NO tread), paint-stained Crocs? I'd already mentioned to Mr. L that I had nearly slipped in the Home Depot parking lot, but I'd left my good shoes at the cottage the last time we were there and wanted to remember to bring my ratty old ones back. I had not reckoned with the wet and slippery staircase.
I fall down go BOOM!
That had to be the most frightening split second of my life. The stairs have four steps and I missed three of them and landed on my butt on the concrete pavers at the bottom. I slammed both wrists onto the bottom step and was instantly soaked to the skin.
I must've sat there for a full 10 seconds before I could catch my breath to move. Was I smart and did I go back inside? No, I went for another load from the car. I was careful and since the gutter over the door leaks like a sieve, got even wetter. I dumped my load and CHANGED MY SHOES.
Once I had everything in, I called Mr. L. I had promised I'd call as soon as I got in. His reaction. "Gee, it's good you're not hurt. With no neighbors around, nobody would have found you."
That scared me. (Thanks, Mr. L.) Suddenly that commercial about the old woman who'd fallen and couldn't get up didn't seem so idiotic.
Lucky for me, I had used an icepack in the cooler so I alternated sitting 20 minutes on and 20 minutes off for most of the day. I finished the copy edit (and handed it in a week early--Man, I like The Walled Flower!) and I even got a lot of reading in for the book that needs a blurb. (Once I figured out how I could sit on my recliner without searing pain.)
And now all I have to show for yesterdays adventures are a LOT of bruises and sore muscles.
And the Crocs? They still aren't in the garbage where they should be. I still have some painting to complete. THEN they're going in the garbage.
Have you ever fallen and couldn't get up?
