My house here in the mountains is (of course) on a slope. Everything is slanty or slopey and it takes awhile to get used to it.
Spell Check assures me that the words slanty and slopey do not exist, but I don 't give a damn. They exist in the mountains of Tennessee.
This isn't a lesson in topography. It is merely a prelude to my story; an appetizer before the main course.
Here's the main course:
It's raining relentlessly all day Saturday. I feel lazy and lethargic - - alarmingly unmotivated. The house is still empty. My furniture won't be delivered until Tuesday. All I have is a small table, a metal folding chair, and that ancient repulsive reclining chair that the previous owner left.
The repulsive reclining chair has turned out to be an island of refuge in a sea of nothingness. Me and my three cats actually battle one another to utilize the chair. If I get into the chair first and fall asleep, I usually wake up to find two or more cats crowded in the chair with me.
To say that our sleeping arrangement is uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. I'm nearly crippled from aches and pains. When I wake up it usually takes ten minutes for me to dislodge myself from the cats and the chair's unwholesome grip. Then I limp and stagger around all day doing a bad imitation of Quasimodo.
This afternoon my rapidly deteriorating body is wracked (racked?) with pain. I'm in a foul mood - alternately grumbling curses at the chair, the cats, and the incredibly slow moving company (which seems to be coming via wagon train).
Despite the rain and the pain, I decide to venture outside to quickly clean one of the rain gutters - which has been hopelessly clogged with leaves. This impromptu project would be the highlight of a boring day.
After cleaning the gutter, I decide to wander around the side of the house to check something in the garage.
It's still raining. Mud is everywhere. I'm trying to be careful......
I suddenly slip on the top of a slippery slope.
Both legs fly out in front of me. I land on my ass in a sea of mud, hurting both wrists as I instinctively try to break my fall.
Stars and birdies orbit around my head, like in a Warner Brothers cartoon.
Before I even have time to comprehend the situation, I'm sliding on my ass at breakneck speed down the hill. It's better than an E Ticket ride at Disneyland. Or a water slide.
As my ride gains momentum, I have periodic regrets about living so far away from a hospital. My regrets are expunged as I hit the next mud puddle and slam to a stop.
It takes me a few seconds to breathe again. And about another minute to assess the situation.
I'd made it down a mountainside riding solely on the cushion of my ass and lived to tell about it. Thanks to the big mud puddle at the end of the ride. It acted like a gigantic airbag, courtesy of Mother Nature.
I laboriously crawl on my hands and knees up the slope and back to the house. It's only then that I realize my clothes are covered in mud and I won't have a washing machine until Tuesday. Well, at least I can take a shower.
It would all be hilarious if it wasn't so painful.