Blogging one-handed

Friday 3 August:

Couldn't make much sense of any of today's Woo feeds - the hormone horoscope is still blathering on about rising estrogen making one's face more symmetrical for a week, which is too silly even for me, horoscope was noncommittal, Tarot confusing at first and then made me blush, and honestly, by Friday, if I have to look once more at the Australian War Memorial website I am going to hurt somebody, I assume today is the anniversary of some hideous futile exercise in slaughter on the Western Front and well, Pinvin does Pinvin same as yesterday, same as tomorrow. Only the fortune cookie spoke, with clarity and penetration, to my innermost soul:

 

Yep so when I arrived at work at dawn and saw this glove at the foot of the north steps, I thought, It's a sign

But then nothing else happened until about 4:30pm when I was on my way home and I stacked my bike, hard, on the wet asphalt shared path around the Melbourne Uni colleges. I braked as a car came out of a driveway and skidded on the wet fucking heritage bluestones, and down I went on my left side. Out of nowhere there appeared a large audience of wide-eyed college inmates who listened respectfully while I lay on the ground for a while saying Fuck, For fuck's sake, Jesus fucking christ  etc. I sort of had to shout to hear myself swearing over Patti Smith who was still in my headphones, loudly asserting that the night belongs to lovers. One's perception of time warps and stretches in the midst of these events and while I was lying on the ground, adjusting to this sudden new perspective on Parkville, I thought of the morning's fortune cookie and I also remembered this. I had been riding slowly enough to realise I was going down and to try hold onto my bike when I fell and not put my hands out, but at the last second the reflex was irresistible and I flung my left hand out to break my fall. So the shock of impact went all the way up that arm and shoulder. This is how collarbones get broken and I am very lucky to have nothing worse than pain and swelling. There is going to be a nightmarishly good bruise on my left hip.

Didn't have the nous to take crash scene photos but
if you want I can stage some reenactment shots

After a while the kids helped me get out from under my bike and handed me the pieces of my glasses, which are completely fucking destroyed. Once I got up I went through a few more observations about Fuck me fucking dead etc again and established that I hadn't hit my head and no bones were broken. I had jeans and gloves and a raincoat on - the raincoat is dead, but miraculously I have no cuts except a tiny little slit above my left eyebrow presumably from broken spectacles glass, and a few bits of gravel got into the heel of my left hand, which is so swollen and sore that I can't move my fingers without intense pain. It wasn't a pleasant ride home, particularly as I couldn't see all that well, but I made it, I collected Lenny from school and got straight into a boiling hot porridge and honey bath, and stewed myself in there until all the adrenalin had been leached away. 

Leonard has watched two hours of television and the Uber Eats guy has just brought us some chips. As soon as I can get Lenny off to bed I am going to take myself to the same destination, with a large bowl of cherries and a not-small glass of whisky.