I tripped up the stairs yesterday

Okay. I predict that A LOT of posts on this blog are going to begin with the words "I tripped." I'm distracted, tired, stressed: whatever. It's inevitable. I trip, stumble or fall at least once or twice a day. Usually, it's a small ordeal; I'll pick myself up, brush off and go about my merry way. Yesterday, the trip sucked a little more than usual because it happened on the third floor
stairs at my apartment.

These aren’t ordinary stairs. They're the steel ones with cheese grater-like construction.


So it goes like this. On the way home from work, I'd drifted off into a deep sleep (one of the many perks of a carpool). It was one of those naps that leave you feeling that nothing else exists but you, your dream and the soft surface upon which you lay. Aaahhh car naps. Anyway, when Chris nudged me because we'd arrived home, I groggily picked up my lunch box and headed for the stairs thinking nothing else in the world matters more to me at this moment than sinking into the abyss of flannel pillows on my bed. I was on the last three stairs, so far luck was on my side, then it happened. My foot slipped.

The lunch box containing my Tupperware, phone, tampons and compact flew from my arm as I took a nosedive toward the next cheese grater stair.

The loud crash was followed by the tiny sound of my flip phone landing open, three floors below on the hot cement. That thing was brand new. I just bought it a month ago.

The imprints on the palms of my hands didn't go away for like an hour. It stung. Bad. But on the plus side, I was awake enough to make it to the gym.

Climbing stairs is a weak spot for me.