A Conspiracy of Traps

Why did you sleep so late?

Huh? Oh,. I woke up at 4:30 this morning, looked around, and asked, "Why?", and went back to sleep. Then somehow it got to 6:45 and here I am and I'm dazed. I'm not used to sleeping so late.

You must have had a wild night.

Let me think. Oh. We watched "The Tourist" on DVD and then I read. I'm pretty sure that I complained about my wounds through the whole thing.

Wounds?

It was a conspiracy of traps carefully designed to do me in. First I had to call Comcast and complain that the digital adapter they sent for the TV upstairs wasn't worth a flip. And do you know what she had me do? She wanted me to read the serial number off the adapter. I thought that was pretty stupid.

Yes, and...

So I was carrying around the phone talking as I went upstairs and went to the TV and found a black box on the TV and turned it around and squinted out the serial number and she said that wasn't it but it was the only number there and I was getting upset with her until I figured out that I was reading out the serial number of a X-Box. You can see I was getting frustrated.

You thought the X-Box was the adapter.

Well, how was I supposed to know? This was in my step-son's room and he has all kinds of electronic craziness in there. So after I explained to her that I may have read a X-Box number to her by mistake I heard her sigh impatiently which frustrated me even more because now she thought that she had an aged idiot on the phone. So I was going to rush around to the other side of the big TV and then it happened.

Big TV?

Well yeah. We gave him our great big boxy TV after Marilyn got us a big, skinny HDTV. So I going from one side of the big TV to the other side and -- you know, his overhead light needs more wattage. You see, I tripped over a portable sewing machine sitting right there on the floor. I mean, it wasn't a standard tripping, it was a full scale trip and I plopped flat onto the floor. The floor was carpeted but under the floor was wood and the hardness of the wood transconfigurated right through the carpet onto my body.

I'll bet that hurt!

But I more or less kept my composure. I grabbed the phone which was two feet from my head and pulled it to my ear and she was saying, "Sir? Sir?". As I lay there I explained that I tripped and that maybe I should call back later. She started saying something else but I clicked her off. By now she was convinced that I was an aged idiot and it is hard to speak meaningfully to someone who thinks you are an idiot.

I limped downstairs and Marilyn asked what that bang was and I told her that I tripped over a sewing machine and bruised my leg and I jammed my mouse-clicking finger trying to break my fall. She tried to stifle the laughter as she said, "Oh my gosh." I then ranted. I mean who leaves a sewing machine on the floor. That was just stupid. Marilyn rubbed it in, "There was a sewing machine in the middle of the floor and you didn't see it?"

I replied with absolute certainty, "He needs a bigger light bulb up there. Besides, I was concentrating on finding a stupid digital thing on top of the TV and wasn't looking down. And it is stupid that he leaves a sewing machine on the floor. And why did that stupid Comcast lady make me go all the way upstairs to read a serial number anyway? If she had just taken my word for it none of this would have happened!"

So clumsiness doesn't come into play?

You sound like Marilyn. Don't you guys understand that I suffered blunt force trauma? I mean, it hurts to type.

So this is your blog entry?

Most people don't realize that when one suffers physical trauma they also are whacked with psychological trauma too. The only way to confront this before it becomes debilitating as to face the fear head on. So I am going to call Comcast as soon as I wake up and confront the lady and explain to her that I am not an aged idiot. But then maybe it won't be the same lady.

Maybe I can call this entry "Confronting Your Fears" which would give hope to those who feel the world conspires against them. They would find an ally in me here.

I don't think that is a very good idea.

If my wife will leave me alone to tend to my wounds today maybe I could research something and write about it later. If my finger stops hurting.