Monday, February 13, 2006

The Human Slinky

The commercial still reverberates off the walls of my memory, happy and full of life.

Slinky! Slinky! For fun it's a wonderful toy!
Slinky! Slinky! It's fun for a girl and a boy!

I think that's how it goes.

At least in my version it does.

Nearly two weeks into my new living situation I metamorphically became the Human Slinky.

Actually, if I had done so, it probably wouldn't have hurt as much.

It's 9:05am on a Dialysis Day. Oh how I hate them so. I rise blurry eyed and fatigued, stumbling my way to the hallway so I can excavate my increasingly sore bladder.

My roommate's in the shower.

In past roommate situations, this would mean I would have to determine a stealth way to excrete my urine.

When I lived with Susie (that's definately another post waiting to happen...she had heaven sent legs) and she was in the bathroom, I would simply go out to the backyard and visit my favorite tree.

That would probably not be a good idea in my present concrete jungle.

Since I now reside in a two bedroom, one and a half bath apartment, I simply slump downstairs and do my business.

Except when I become the Human Slinky.

The carpet is short and somewhat aged on the steps of my apartment. I engage the first step and I become a living Peter Sellers scene. Instead of stepping flat, I use the ball of my foot and the entire weight of my body pushes it out from underneath me.

Instead of falling flat, engaging my weight with my skinny, boney ass, I fall on my right side, allowing my left ankle bone to slam against the following four steps.

I lie there thankful my roommate is still in the shower and didn't witness my Chevy Chase like pratfall.

I hug the steps for a minute or two, lightly grunting as I try to keep the pain from fully strengthening.

Yes, much like I do at Dialysis.

It eventually subsides and I make my way to the bathroom just in time.

If I truly had the powers of the Human Slinky, once my feet slipped from under me, my head could have swung back and landed on the step. I could have flipped, head to toe and back again, safely down the steps.

By the way, I would be amiss if I didn't mentione that THIS HAS HAPPENED TWICE.

I know, I'm a dolt.

My ankle was the size of a grapefruit for eight days, but I could still limp my way through the day.

A psychological manifestation of my inner worth.

That's what a therapist would say. I allow Dialysis to rule my life, so I limp through, never able to completely and happily travel at life's pace.

That's certainly true.

But if I begin to believe myself the true Human Slinky, I should be able to spring through my problems with energy and originality.

And fall down steps gracefully.

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