I don’t know exactly when in my surgery they removed part of my brain, but they obviously did. I can’t form a coherent thought these days, and seem to be stumbling over nothing again and again.
Today, while Alex was in daycare as I continue my recovery from surgery, I decided I would clean. Me, the person who hates all things related to cleaning, decided that instead of, you know, recovering, I would clean my bathroom and study and do eighty bajillion loads of laundry. No brain I has.
As I start pulling things out of my bathroom something falls. From the sky. I swear, I have no idea where something would have fallen from when I wasn’t even reaching up high. It was nail polish. I have not worn nail polish in years. Where did this come from? Obviously, the sky. And, of course, it broke in half. The bottom half of the nail polish bottle landed smack dab in the toilet and the top landed on the floor right by the toilet.
Needless to say, I was not amused. And I ended up with a pink hand.
Clearly, the girl who doesn’t wear nail polish has no need for nail polish remover. Fortunately, it all came off of the toilet and floor with just a little elbow grease. Unfortunately for my hand, scrubbing didn’t work so well.
Now, I suppose I shouldn’t just blame this on the surgeon. He probably didn’t remove part of my brain and unless scientists are missing the true function of the gallbladder there is no reason I should have lost any cognitive ability. Really, it’s just that I’m clumsy. Always, inevitably, undoubtably, invariably, clumsy. I drop things, spill things, accidentally hurl things across the room, burn things, smack things (and people), trip over things (and nothing). So this nail polish incident was just a little more pink than my usual clumsiness.
I hope Alex doesn’t have my same clumsiness genes, because with his love of climbing things? That could be bad.
On second thought, I hope he outgrows my clumsiness genes.