Being injured is merely a way of life for me. I don’t know why but I think it’s meant as a joke for the man upstairs. He’s like “now let the window fall on her face. It’ll be funny because she’s on matric vac and she’s wearing boys’ clothes”.

Fiction?

I think not!

 This rather unfortunate event is only funny now because of the strange nun’s who, assuming the clothes were my own, tried to literally get me on the ‘straight path’ .

Everyone has that weird, coincidental “I was petrified of bunji jumping and then when I finally decided to do it, the rope broke” story.

Some more unfortunate than others.

I have been injured (often). Last year I tore a ligament in my ankle, and literally 5 minutes later in the same soft core netball match, my twin sister tore the same ligament in the same foot. It would have been funnier if we didn’t have to lean on each other on the longest most treacherous 100 metre journey home.

Soon enough we were scuffling around university together. The injury changed the world for me. It was like all the fluffy happy parts of life were removed and replaced with horrors.  All of a sudden the threat of stairs lingered around every (and I mean EVERY) corner.

 I sat waiting on the Jammie stairs (as one does), staring at people (as one does) and I noticed something Bizarre (as one does while staring and sitting): Lots of people are injured. I was blown away by the catastrophic number of people hobbling around on crutches, wrapped up in bandages and literally riddled in injury memorabilia (ie.scars, scabs, swelling).

It was breathtaking. It could be likened to the graceful movements of a Zombie Ballet.

Shuffle, skip, moan.

Trundle, click, Groan.

 It was beautiful.

Now I understand the Big Man’s humour.