Like a Fat Dumb Zarathustra

Posted: May 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

I fell down a mountain on Monday. Not all of it, but some of it, enough to ruin my day. It was a good hike, except for the 4 and a half feet that nearly broke me in two. I was hiking with a buddy, a tiny comedian and his beautiful boxer who ran ahead of us with his tongue bouncing outside of his head. We walked and talked about comic books and jokes and what kind of people we don’t want to be. Then I fell off the mountain. The trail was washed out a little from rain, and I was wearing old tennis shoes with no tread, but mostly I fell because I’m fat, uncoordinated, and unwilling to admit it. I fell because I’m stubborn. The little guy pranced down, he had to be careful, but did just fine. The dog needed prompting, but looked awesome when he landed. I fell like the meteor that killed the dinosaurs.

It was steep, so I turned to face the mountain, but lost my footing, and I slid, I slid for about 8 feet, on my hands and beat up sneakers, kicking up sand like bad news in a Western. I got going pretty quickly, I’m a lot of weight coming down a hill. I thought I was going to make it, I stayed above the cloud of dust and lousy luck. Then, when I should have kicked my feet out and sprawled to my tummy, to land deftly like a big fat tiger, I instead planted my feet hard, and launched myself into the ground like a homemade catapult. I stuck my feet to a tiny ledge four or five feet above the path. I whipped myself like a big stupid lever, right into the dirt, ass first, hard. I fell for a second, probably less than a second, but long enough to know I was falling, long enough to get scared, long enough to get mad, and long enough to think, for an instant, “I’m not going to be okay.”

When I hit the ground I couldn’t breath, I knocked the wind out of myself from the bottom. I’d never done that before. I’ve lost my wind getting struck from behind, and from a good jolt to the chest, but never from the bottom. Landing that hard on my tailbone, and the small of my back, drove the air from my body with a purpose. It emptied me, it pushed every breath I had ever known out. I forgot how to scream, and lost the ability to. I was mute, helpless and raw. I rolled over angrily in one slow steady motion. I pulled myself to my knees and pushed up on shaky legs. I staggered and tried to remember how lungs work. I was bloody, but not drippy, just smeared in red ink where I had made mistakes.

A moment ago I was fine, and now things were different, and it was my fault.

I got sick. I threw up, right there on the mountain. It wasn’t a concussion, I checked my pupils and I didn’t get a headache. I do that when I get hurt, I get sick, sometimes even when I get sad. If my body goes through too much stress, I wretch, I panic and vomit, it’s an act I’ve only seen duplicated in bad dogs, cholicky babies, and emotional cripples. Whenever my body experiences any sort of trauma, it just assumes I must have eaten something stupid. That only poison, or something I put in my belly could be the cause of my duress, “Hey idiot, you eat some trash? because we’re dying over here,” “What’s that, we’re bleeding? Shithead must have swallowed a bottle cap.” I barfed and it hurt my sides, and it didn’t help anything.

I staggered to my buddy’s car. He poured water on a scrapped up leg and tattered elbows, and shooed away tourists and old people who kept telling me to lie down, which was probably the most helpful.

He drove me home and I took shallow breaths, I assured him I’d be okay, and I will be.

It’s Tuesday, and my everything hurts. I can move. Not well. The small of my back is swollen and knotted, it aches consistently, but it works, and it’s going to be strong. I think I bruised my kidneys. I didn’t piss blood, but I can’t take deep breaths yet, and my flanks are very tender. I looked up those symptoms on WebMD. I’ve never pissed blood and I’ve always kind of wanted to. I’ll bet I faint when I see it. It’s a weird thing being an arrogant coward.

Nothing is numb and there are no sharp pains. I suppose you could say I’m lucky, I won’t. I’ve been making a series of groans and whimpers I’m quite frankly ashamed of. My roommates think I sound like a puppy mill. I’ve got my ached noises mapped out pretty well. I know which twists cause what swearwords, and what stretches hurt where. I’ve got a series of groans for high in my back, and sad little sniffles about my tummy. I know the “woots” are the worst, and I’m not sure what causes them,  I think they might come from staying still. They hurt like the devil. Also, I landed so hard I gave myself a hemorrhoid, which I didn’t know you could do. I landed so hard I knocked my ass out.  It’s probably the worst bonus I could think of aside from missing teeth. It’s a real fuck you from the universe. I probably had it coming.

That hemorrhoid thing is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever written. I don’t think I could say it out loud, not in real life. If you ask me about it later I might pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ll be honest right now, because I’m banged up and miserable and desperately in need sympathy from others. My butt hurts. There’s no use for dignity, when falling down a mountain.

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