It has been far too long since I had a good ol’ Spaz in the City post. I have had a good winter, falling less than usual. There was one morning when I should have known that there was ice below the freshly fallen snow and I bit it on the corner. Someone saw and just stood there, and I shouted out “don’t worry I’m fine!” in my most sarcastic voice. I actually think I’ve had the same conversation with the same guy before.
Yesterday Boston received its 50-61st inches of snow. With each new snow the potential for catastrophe increases. I was disappointed but not surprised to find, when I woke on the snow day, to find that people had dumped all of their snow into well surrounding my street-facing windows.
Not great. Not only would I like to see the sun before April, I would like to have emergency egress in case of a fire (since all of the hydrants will be covered in snow, no doubt). So yesterday, after shoveling out my car, I hoisted myself over the little fence and dug like a dog through the snow to clear a bit of it away from the windows.
To what must be the great amusement of my neighbors, I am in and out of that window-well a lot. This fall there were a ton of leaves, which I diligently cleaned one crisp afternoon. The next day someone threw a Dunkin’ cup and a pizza box in there. Thanks a lot. With all my experience, I only slipped a little getting over the fence to play in the snow.
Exhausted and satisfied that the snow wouldn’t cause my windows to come crashing in, I decided to call it quits. With all the snow under my feet I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I usually got back out, and when muscle memory fails in these situations no good can come.
I put my foot up on the edge of the sidewalk near the fence and yanked myself up. My toe slipped. I tried again, and got my left leg over the fence. Apparently I would have been better off using that leg for balance, because my right leg slipped off the edge of the sidewalk and I crashed into the fence. Yes, those were spear-shaped fence posts you saw in the picture.
As soon as my pain-blindness subsided, my first thought was “that is going to leave an awesome bruise!” (is it any surprise I reacted like a teenage boy?). I got myself out, finally, shoveled around the back path, and then went inside for a hot shower.
Taking my tights off it occurred to me they could have been ripped during my adventures, so I inspected them. Not only was there a tiny puncture in them, there was also some blood. Uh-oh.
The tiny puncture in my tights matches a puncture in my leg. I would post a picture of it, but it is high enough on my leg that it might involve changing the rating on this blog.
Even as I write this I am smirking a little bit about my battle wound. I have written before about the wages of recklessness. I’d rather be a little battered than scared all the time.